Aftermath
by Dr Alice
Summary: This series takes up directly from the end of S5 and continues on to my version of what might lead into S6. Warning: it contains NO Jack Bauer, it's mostly MarthaAaron with some Charles Logan and other characters from S5.
1. Chapter 1

Martha stood on the tarmac, watching Charles' limousine recede into the distance. She closed her eyes and sent out a silent prayer: _Thank You. Thank You for keeping Aaron alive. Take care of David._ She opened her eyes to find she was standing in a mass of people, all of whom were randomly milling around, confused by the sudden disappearance of the President. No one was paying attention to her. Detached from her surroundings and grateful for the anonymity of her situation, she dreamily watched the jet as it taxied down the runway; she couldn't think of anything except that it was all over.

The jet's engines increased their pitch suddenly and the plane began to accelerate in preparation for liftoff. Martha stood, focused. She had no intention of turning away until the plane was gone. She became aware of someone standing at her side and recognized Mike, then realized with a shock that he was crying. She put her hand on his arm and stood, dry eyed, as the plane lifted into the air.

"We did the right thing, Mike. We did everything we could."

"I know. I owed him this. We never – he never wanted to talk to me again after …"

"It's all right. I know he understands now. I think he knows what we did to help."

Novick nodded silently. They both turned their heads to look after the plane as it shrank to nothing in the early morning sky. He took a deep breath and in a clear attempt to regain control of himself said, "We need to get back to the retreat as soon as possible. I'm going to talk to the Secret Service about finding us some transport. Be right back."

"I'll be over here near the podium."

Mike cleared his throat and walked briskly back toward the hangar. Martha took her hat off and ran her fingers through her hair, taking some deep breaths. Yesterday at this time she'd been trying to get ready to greet President Suvarov and his wife – and feeling distinctly unenthused about the prospect of spending the day with them. Now all she wanted was sleep, and she had an unpleasant feeling that she wasn't going to get it. At the same time, she felt the same "high" she'd gotten after pulling successful all-nighters during finals in college: a sense of accomplishment, a feeling that she could do anything she wanted to do. She hadn't felt that way in years.

Suddenly she noticed a knot of men moving out from the hangar. Mike was among them, looking agitated and talking into his cell phone. He clicked off and headed toward her. One of the other men looked vaguely familiar; as they came closer, she realized with a shock that it was Aaron. He and Mike both looked upset.

"Aaron?" she blurted. "What are you doing here?"

"I met up with Jack Bauer once I got off the ranch. He called Mike looking for me. I helped him get onto the helicopter so that he could interrogate your husband. Mike told me that everything worked out and your husband was taken into custody." He was looking at her closely, worried.

"Yes, but… what's wrong?" Martha looked between Mike and Aaron, confused.

"Mrs. Logan, we just got a call from the police." Novick stepped closer to Martha and looked at Aaron for support. "It's about Evelyn Martin."

"What about her? She left to go home last night."

"She's dead, Martha. She and her daughter were both found shot to death in a motel."

Martha stared at Mike for a second, then grabbed Aaron's arm for support. "_What?_ Was it robbery?"

"No, ma'am." It was Aaron, looking angry. "Evelyn Martin was in contact with President Palmer. She obtained a recording implicating your husband in the President's assassination. Wayne Palmer and I helped Jack try to track it down. She was murdered because she knew your husband was behind what happened yesterday."

Martha realized she was hyperventilating, and tried to slow her breathing down. "You mean the recording you were talking about earlier? The reason Charles tried to have the plane shot down?"

"Yes."

"Oh God. And her _daughter_ is dead? But what would Evelyn's daughter have to do with this?"

"Her daughter was kidnapped and held for ransom. The recording was the ransom."

"You mean Charles…"

Aaron and Mike looked at each other in resignation. "Yes, I was there when she told Wayne Palmer. I'm sorry, but I know this is true."

Martha realized her knees were buckling. She tightened her grip on Aaron's arm and started to weep. "I wish he were dead. I wish I'd killed him."

"The car's here, Martha. Let's go." Mike beckoned, and an agent opened the door of the limo that had just pulled up alongside them. Aaron walked her quickly to the car and got in beside her; a few seconds later, Martha realized she was being supported between the two men as they pulled away from the airfield. She made an attempt to pull herself together, biting her lip as hard as she could. "The police found them?"

"A couple of dead paramedics were there too. Apparently Evelyn was injured earlier and called for help from the motel. When the paramedics didn't report in, their dispatcher called a trace on their last known location. The police ID'd the bodies, realized that Evelyn worked for you, and called the Secret Service, who called me."

"Where is Mr. Palmer?" muttered Aaron. "I told him not to leave the retreat without protection."

"The _retreat_?"

"Yes, he called me last night and told me he had information for me. He was ambushed on his way to the ranch, but I went out looking for him when he didn't arrive, found him and brought him back. That's when he told me Ms. Martin was involved. We found her and confronted her about the recording, and then she told us about her daughter being kidnapped and asked for our help."

Martha wondered briefly what it would take for Aaron to refer to anyone by his or her first name. A blood oath, perhaps? "And then what happened?"

"Mr. Palmer told me he would get in touch with Jack Bauer to help get her daughter back; she wouldn't give us the recording until she knew her daughter was safe. They left, and after that I really don't know what happened. Your husband told me later that the recording had been destroyed."

"And now Wayne is missing too? Does anyone know where he is?"

"I'll try Jack Bauer." Mike dialed and held the phone to his ear as the limo pulled up to the front of the retreat house. After a long pause, he said, "Jack, it's Mike Novick. We need to know where Wayne Palmer is. We've had some bad news regarding Evelyn Martin. Call me as soon as you get this." He shook his head as they walked inside: "No answer."

As the three of them stood in the foyer, Martha realized that the men were as exhausted and confused as she was. The bruises from Aaron's beating were beginning to show. "Look, we all need some rest. Something to eat wouldn't hurt either. Let me talk to the staff about getting some breakfast and we can decide what to do next while we eat." Mike glanced at Aaron and back at her, then appeared to change his mind and nodded. "That's a good idea. Aaron, you need to see a doctor; I'm taking you off duty. Martha, I'll be in the study. I've got to make some calls before we eat." He headed off before Aaron could open his mouth to protest.

"He's right." She put her hand on Aaron's arm. "Please let me get you an ice pack. You need that and a chance to sit down."

"Let me see who's here first. There are some agents I know I can trust, but I want to check who's on duty."

"Okay." She headed to the kitchen, and giving in to her worst instincts, asked for breakfast heavy on the eggs, bacon and caffeine. Returning to the front of the house, she found Aaron talking to two young, startled-looking Secret Service agents. She smiled and said, "I really appreciate your help. This is going to be a very busy day. I don't know my schedule yet, but I promise I'll let you know as soon as I do." Aaron gave a small nod of approval as she caught his eye, then frowned as she added, "And Mr. Novick is officially taking Agent Pierce off duty; he's been injured."

"Yes, Mrs. Logan."

"What are your names? I'm sorry, I haven't had a chance to meet you yet."

Looking somewhat astonished, the taller of the two said, "I'm Agent Mitchell, and this is Agent Williams."

Martha gave them her warmest smile. "Nice to meet you. Thank you again." As she and Aaron turned toward the study, she thought she heard a tiny "wow" coming from behind her.

Aaron still looked disapproving. She gave him a straight look and said "I'm getting you that ice pack right now," then froze and spun back toward the agents just moving out of the foyer: "The phone! Agent Mitchell!"

"Yes, Mrs. Logan?"

"Do you know where Agent Pierce's cell phone is? I gave it to someone from the Secret Service last night for safekeeping. I think it was Agent Clark."

"I'll find it, ma'am." Mitchell squared his shoulders and hurried off. Martha looked excitedly at Aaron as he joined her. "Didn't you say that Wayne Palmer called you last night?"

"Yes… yes! I'll try his cell as soon as Mitchell brings me that phone. You found it?"

She lowered her voice. "You must have dropped it when Agent Adams found you. I waited at the stables for a while, then called you and heard your phone ringing. It was on the ground near the stables. I don't think I've ever been so scared." They looked at each other silently until footsteps announced the return of Agent Mitchell, with the phone in his hand. "Here you are, sir."

"Thank you." Mitchell nodded and headed back to the main entrance with a determined look on his face. Martha gestured Aaron toward the library, then headed back to the kitchen to check on breakfast. She requested a dishtowel and some cracked ice, then returned to the library to find Aaron talking on the phone. From the look of relief on his face she realized that Wayne had to be alive. She stood patiently waiting through the end of the conversation, then said, "Come to the dining room," as she handed him the ice pack.

"I can eat in the kitchen."

"You most cert-" she bit off the rest of the sentence as quickly as she could. "Look, Aaron. As far as I'm concerned I'm not the First Lady anymore, and that's fine with me. If I am it's only on a technicality, and it will end soon enough. I need to hear what you have to say, and so does Mike, and beyond that you are my guest. Please, come in here."

He smiled slightly. "Yes, ma'am."

The three of them ate heartily, even Mike, who after an initial mutter of "I shouldn't be eating this," put away as much bacon as anyone else. Aaron and Mike did most of the talking. After the first few minutes Martha found herself making mental lists: Pack for David's funeral. I'll need to start making moving arrangements; Hal will be sworn in in a day or two – _Evelyn_.

She looked at Mike. "We need to find Evelyn's ex-husband. He needs to know."

"I've been working on that. Do you know where he'd be?"

"Evelyn mentioned he traveled a lot. They share custody, but he's working abroad a lot of the time. I can't even remember his name," she added as her shoulders slumped.

"That's okay, we'll get the FBI involved if need be." Mike gestured this difficulty away as though it didn't matter. It probably didn't, she realized. It's great to be the President. You can get anything you need. She pushed her plate away and poured more coffee.

"David's going to lie in state for 48 hours. That gives us time to get back for the funeral."

"Is that what you were working on?"

"Yes. I thought it was the right thing to do, and it bought us time to find Wayne and get organized."

"That's great, Mike. Thank you."

"It's time for you to get some rest, Martha. Aaron?"

"Aaron's going to stay here," Martha interjected quickly. They both gave her startled looks. "It's the only safe place. You trust those agents, don't you?" she queried.

"I trained them myself." Aaron nodded.

"Where else is he going to go, Mike? If Evelyn was killed, I don't see a choice. Charles was only taken into custody an hour ago. He could still have agents looking for Aaron."

"Good point. Okay, let's all take a break and meet at – what? Three o'clock?"

"Three o'clock."

Martha realized that Mike was in his "Fix Everything" mode as he headed back to the study. He seemed to thrive on it, she thought. "Aaron, do you want me to get a doctor? It won't take long."

"No, I'm fine." His voice was still somewhat husky, but he looked better than he had a few hours ago. "I wouldn't mind some sleep. I can find some fresh clothes later."

"This way." She led him down the hall to a small room with a couch, a few pictures on the walls, and a general air of disuse. "It's not used much, I don't think anyone will bother you here. I'll find you a blanket."

When she came back a few minutes later, he was slumped in the corner of the couch, asleep. She shook out the blanket and draped it lightly over him; he stirred slightly –

"Martha."

She sat next to him and took his hand. "I'm right here," she whispered.

Ten minutes later, Mike glanced in through the open door and stopped, stunned, at the sight of the First Lady sitting next to Aaron Pierce, with a blanket across their laps, both dead asleep. For a moment he seemed about to step in and awaken them; then he reconsidered, turned off the room light, and pulled the door closed.


	2. Chapter 2

Aaron had no idea where he was, but he was so comfortable he didn't care. He knew he'd been asleep, and gradually became aware of a warm presence next to him. His next realization was that he was not lying down but sitting up, and with that his eyes popped open; he now knew he was still at the Presidential retreat and that the woman next to him was Martha Logan.

_What time is it?_ was his first thought. The room had only one small window, which made it difficult to tell. He carefully pried himself off the couch, not wanting to disturb Martha, and moved stiffly over to the window. It looked to be bright daylight outside, probably early afternoon. As his memory of the morning's events returned to him, he realized that he needed to go to the bathroom, he needed to change clothes, and he needed to find Mike Novick to plan their trip back to Washington. He moved quietly across to the door, glancing back at the couch, and was just about to ease the door open when the handle turned and Mike bumped into him.

"Aah!" Mike erupted, despite Aaron's effort to shush him. They both looked over to see Martha stirring awake. Mike quickly turned on the room light, causing her to flinch and cover her eyes. "Sorry," he apologized, and turned it off again, but not before Aaron had noted a bruise on her cheekbone. He hadn't seen it this morning, but then he hadn't been in shape to notice much. He felt energized by his few hours of sleep, and said, "Mike, I'd like to talk to you about the security detail for the funeral. The lying in state is going to need some careful planning."

"That's fine. I need to talk to you as well; there've been some developments at CTU. Mrs. Logan, do you think you could be ready to fly to Washington this evening? Air Force One is ready. I thought we could leave around eight."

"Of course, Mike." She stood. "Did you get any sleep at all?"

"A catnap. I'm fine. I'll get some rest on the plane." He glanced between the two of them and said, "I checked on you a few hours ago. You looked wiped out." His tone was neutral, but Aaron flushed nonetheless. A moment later he realized that Mike looked too preoccupied to have implied any other meaning to what he'd said. "Is this urgent, Mike?"

"Yes, it is." He glanced at Martha. "Will you excuse us for a minute?"

"I'll start packing. Call me when you need me." She headed for her suite, still looking slightly disoriented from her nap. Novick closed the door behind her.

"What is it, Mike?"

"Two things. First, about Agent Adams. You realize we left our fingerprints all over that plastic? As soon as the police find him – and they will – we'll be identified. I think we should take the initiative and talk to the Attorney General, tell him what happened."

Aaron frowned. "You think that will work?"

"I'm sure of it. He was killed on federal property, that lets the local police out of it. If we explain the facts to the Attorney General, that it was self-defense and he was trying to kill you, he won't ask a lot of questions. He's so preoccupied with that confession Mrs. Logan was able to get from the President, I think he'll accept what we say pretty much at face value. And your record with the Service and David Palmer will speak for you."

Aaron thought fast. Martha had been wearing gloves; there was no chance her fingerprints would be on Adams' gun, and she was the only one who knew he'd been handcuffed at the time Adams had tried to kill him. On the other hand, having taken the gun after she left, his would be all over it. It was clear that Mike didn't know it was Martha who'd shot Adams, and Aaron wasn't about to tell him.

"You may have a point, Mike. Mrs. Logan was able to distract Adams long enough for me to catch him off-balance and grab the gun. We struggled for it, and it went off. It hit him in the chest, and that was it."

Mike nodded. "That's what I thought must have happened."

"I'll do it. Just one thing: Do you think this will make it impossible for me to be at the lying in state or the funeral? It would mean a lot to me to be there."

Mike looked indignant. "Absolutely not! If I have to pull every string I've got, I'll do it. I know you need to be there just as much as I do. I'll vouch for you personally." He put his hand on Aaron's shoulder to emphasize the point.

Aaron drew a deep breath. "Thank you, Mike, I appreciate it." A further thought occurred to him. "Did you say there had been developments at CTU?"

Mike looked worried. "Yes, and they're not good. Jack Bauer has disappeared."

Martha's first action on reaching her suite had been to strip her clothes off and take a shower as fast as possible. She wanted to wash herself free of every trace of her last intimate encounter with Charles. She quickly realized that she did not have the luxury to spend an eternity in the shower, so she cut herself off after ten minutes – reluctantly – and picked out a travel outfit, then dried her hair, dressed and started packing. She was reminded sharply of Evelyn, whose job this would normally have been.

_Why didn't she tell me?_ she wondered, then realized that her actions of yesterday would not have convinced anyone of her ability to keep a secret. And not just yesterday. Ever since she'd returned from Vermont her reputation had preceded her, and she'd only added to it with her occasional acting out at state dinners and public appearances. She'd come to rely on the pills far too heavily, and wine had become her new best friend. Looking back now at the last eighteen months, she felt ashamed, but with a new sense of perspective she wondered how much Charles might be responsible for her unhappiness and insecurity. Subconsciously she must have sensed something was wrong, and he might well have exaggerated her instability to Walt Cummings and the rest of the staff. They would have been only too willing to believe whatever the President said – even Mike. Only Aaron had seen past the smokescreen, had believed her when she told him David Palmer had tried to warn her, and had trusted her with his life. He'd known she was far more reliable than anyone else had ever believed. If not for Aaron's faith in her, Mike would never have believed she was capable of getting a confession from Charles, she realized.

Martha sat down on the bed for a moment, overwhelmed; when they had arrived in California a few days ago everything had been fine, or as fine as it ever was. She'd been in love with Charles; he'd been excited about the Suvarov summit and had told her repeatedly how much he was looking forward to her participation; everything had been organized and taken care of. Now her life was in disarray, marriage over, husband under arrest and in disgrace. She was, to put it bluntly, out of a job. She had no idea what she was going to do with the rest of her life. Even reminding herself that she was lucky to be alive didn't help much. She glanced over to the door to the suite and saw the silhouette of Agent Williams patiently standing guard, and with a pang realized that she'd thought it was Aaron for a moment. She shook her head impatiently and reminded herself that Aaron had his hands full with Mike. It wasn't fair to demand that he dance attendance on her constantly.

Thinking about Aaron made her feel better for the moment. She'd realized this morning that since the events of yesterday their relationship had changed. She knew in a sense that they regarded each other as equals, but now she felt that she was almost walking on eggshells in an attempt not to say the wrong thing, overstep the bounds of their professional relationship or offend him in any way. When she'd tried to order him into the dining room for breakfast she'd known instantly that that approach would not work with him, and she respected him for it. They were slipping back into their roles of Agent Pierce and First Lady as the crises of the last twelve hours became past instead of present, and she regretted it but could see no way to stop it. The next several days would be busy ones for both of them; she probably wouldn't even get to see him. With that thought she jumped up and headed for the door, determined to have at least one more chance to get him to herself, just to reassure herself that he was all right, just to be able to talk to him, even though she had no idea what she was going to say.

She opened the door and was confronted with Agent Williams: "I was going to see if Mr. Novick and Agent Pierce are still in conference. Do you know where they are?"

"Agent Pierce isn't here, Mrs. Logan. He went back to the Service dorm to pack and get some clean clothes. Mr. Novick sent Agent Mitchell with him."

Mike sat, or rather slumped, at the desk in the Presidential study. He was contemplating another nap – he'd only caught half an hour of sleep between phone calls. He felt a weary sense of vindication thinking about what he'd been able to get done today:_ I knew I could handle things better than that idiot Cummings._ He felt a quick stab of guilt for this thought, remembering how Walt had come apart at the seams under questioning and how masterfully Logan had manipulated him. No, both of them. Nevertheless, he could not rid himself of a sense of satisfaction, particularly with regard to his conversation with the Attorney General. The AG's response had been just what he had predicted; the death of a Secret Service agent mattered little compared to the revelations of Logan's confession to his wife.Mike was sure Aaron would have nothing to worry about.

The surprising part had come next, when the AG had played the recording back They'd been discussing the likelihood of getting Logan to plea bargain when Mike glanced up and froze, seeing the expression on Aaron's face:

"Mike? Are you there?"

"Yes, sir. Yes, I was distracted for a second. Sorry."

"Well, we can go into this later. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Again, thank Mrs. Logan for all her help."

"I will, sir, thank you. We all owe her a debt of gratitude." He punched the speaker button, ending the conversation, then waited for Aaron to collect himself.

"He hit her." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

"How – Why did you –"

"Aaron, it was our last option. Jack Bauer tried to get a confession out of Logan at gunpoint and it didn't work. We had no choice. And I didn't force her into this, nobody did. She volunteered. I will say, I don't think anyone else could have done it."

"If I'd known –"

"– What? What would you have done differently, Aaron?"

"I don't know, Mike. Maybe nothing. But hearing this… and now that Jack's missing, we don't have anything else, do we? Everything is going to depend on her. I hate to think of her having so much to deal with."

"So do I. But, you know, after seeing her this morning I think she can handle it. I know this isn't going to sound good, but there's a lot more to her than I ever thought there was. I was wrong," he added hastily as Aaron looked at him.

Looking back on this conversation and the events of the last day and a half, Mike thought to himself that there had to be something going on between Aaron and Martha, but he wasn't sure what it was. As he slid into a doze, it didn't seem important.

Agent Mitchell escorted Aaron to the door, then handed him off to Williams in a ceremonial manner that almost made Aaron smile. He thanked them both, then knocked lightly.

"Who is it?"

"It's Agent Pierce, ma'am," he answered for Williams' benefit.

"Please come in."

Aaron was surprised at how neat the suite looked. A couple of suitcases stood near the door, and the room was tidied: Martha had taken out her nervous energy on putting away everything that could possibly be stored, folded or otherwise disposed of.

"Are we ready to leave?" she asked. "I wanted to talk to Mike for a minute, but I can do that on the plane."

"I don't think so. I just got back myself, I had to change clothes and get my things together. I wanted to talk to you for a minute, if that's all right." He looked preoccupied.

"Of course it is." She waited a moment, then when he said nothing said: "Please sit down, Aaron." She took the initiative by sitting down on the couch herself.

He sat down, then said, "I have to tell you that Mike and I talked to the Attorney General today about the death of Agent Adams."

Martha shuddered. "Nobody's asked me any questions."

"Not yet, they haven't. That's why I'm here. I wanted to tell you that everyone thinks I shot Adams. That's what I told Mike and the Attorney General."

Martha jumped up: "No! No. This is wrong, Aaron." He opened his mouth to try to convince her, but she overrode him: "I _will not_ let you do this."

"You don't have a choice." His voice was firm. "Mike believed me, and so did the AG. I've already given a formal statement." He waited a moment; she calmed after making eye contact with him and returned to her seat, though with a rebellious look. "I know you don't like this, but it's the best way of explaining what happened and I can tell you why if you'll listen." He explained the fingerprint evidence and the Attorney General's focus on the Logan recording. "If it comes out that you shot a Secret Service agent, you'll be dealing with this the rest of your life. If I take responsibility, it'll be forgotten in five minutes. Mike told me he'd vouch for me, and I believe him."

"But what if you lose your job?"

He shrugged slightly: "Then I do. I've been thinking of resigning anyway. I'm not going to do it yet, but after what's happened I don't feel what I do is all that important anymore. I used to hope my son would follow me into the Service after he gets out of the Navy, but at this point I think I'd have to tell him otherwise."

"I can give you two good reasons why you should stay, if you want to hear them."

"What are they?"

"Agents Mitchell and Williams." She smiled. "I talked to Agent Williams for a while this afternoon, I didn't have anything else to do. He told me a lot of stories about working with you. Those boys worship you, Aaron. They're in for a hard time once the news breaks about Charles, and they need you. I told you the country was lucky to have men like you, and I meant it. You could do a lot of good by staying with the Service."

Aaron took this in silence, but he was clearly affected by what Martha had said. After a few moments he looked up and nodded. "Thank you." After a moment he added, "Will you help me? I need you to verify that I'm the one who shot Adams. The Attorney General will want to talk with you tomorrow."

Martha stood up and moved about the room for a moment. In a gesture that reminded him oddly of her husband, she stood staring out the window while she thought it over. Unlike Logan, however, Martha was capable of quick decisions and she made one now. "If you think this is the right thing to do, then I'll do it. It just seems to me that you've been through enough already without adding this to it."

"And you haven't?" He was now standing with her by the window. He reached out and ran his fingers over her cheekbone; she flinched. "I know how you got this, Martha. I heard the recording, I know what he did to you and you should never have had to go through that."

With that gesture, the emotions she'd been fighting all afternoon overwhelmed her. Martha threw her arms around Aaron and cried into his shoulder; he was startled for a second, but then held her and let her weep. After a few minutes, she calmed down enough to say, "I'm sorry…"

"You have nothing to be sorry for. Believe me, you don't."

"I don't have anyone else to talk to about this, Aaron. No one I'd even want to discuss this with." She pulled herself up from his shoulder, facing him. "I know this is a lot to ask, and you're going to be busy when we get back to Washington, but if you could make time to talk to me every couple of days I'd really appreciate it. You might even keep me from cracking up once and for all," she added, trying to make a joke of it.

He knew the truth underlying what she'd just said, and he knew the ordeal she was going to face tomorrow. "Of course I will. You'll either see me or I'll call you. Every day." They stood together, reluctant to pull away, until the phone rang. Martha answered it, spoke briefly, then hung up and came back to Aaron. "It's Mike. He says everything's ready."

"Then let's go." He hesitated. "I'll send Williams with you; I need to brief the agents for a few minutes."

She put her hand on his arm. "That's fine. You'll be on the plane, right?"

"Absolutely."

"As long as I know you're there, I'll be fine." She smiled.

"Mike told me today that he was impressed with how strong you've been. I've known it all along." He covered her hand with his for a moment, then stepped forward and opened the door. "Williams, Mrs. Logan is ready to go. Take her to the study with Mr. Novick, if you would."

Martha sat with Mike in the limo, headed to the airfield. "Mike, Aaron mentioned that you'd talked to the Attorney General today about the shooting of Agent Adams."

"Yes, it's been taken care of."

"And Aaron won't be in any serious trouble?"

"In a case of self-defense? I hardly think so. There won't be any repercussions about this." He spoke absently.

Martha was relieved. Now that Mike had confirmed what Aaron had told her earlier, she had one more question. "Mike, do you know any good divorce lawyers in Washington?"

He didn't blink an eye. "I know six."

"I only need one."

They traded glances as the car stopped next to the jet; Mike raised an eyebrow. "All right, Martha, let's get on the plane first and I'll give you my recommendations."

"Thank you, Mike. Thanks for everything you've done today. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been here."

"It was a pleasure, Martha. More than that, it's my last chance. Once Hal Gardner gets sworn in, I have a feeling it's going to be time for me to look for another job."

"You seem awfully calm about it."

"I could use a break, and I don't think it will be too difficult to find something else to do. There's a couple of think tanks where I know most of the people on the Board."

Martha chuckled to herself, knowing she should never have worried about Mike; he would always land on his feet. They were now in the passenger section of the plane, and as she turned to put her handbag down she looked around and saw Aaron standing at the back of the cabin. Knowing he was there to reassure her, she smiled at him; he smiled back, then disappeared into the back of the plane before Mike saw him.

"Now, Mike, about those attorneys you mentioned…"


	3. Chapter 3

Martha's introduction to her new life was a stark contrast to her isolation of the last 48 hours. Looking back on events a few days later, her impression was of a blur of activity interspersed with scenes standing out as though spotlit in her memory.

"Get ready, Mrs. Logan." Mike Novick offered her his arm as they descended from the plane. A huge crush of journalists was massed a safe distance from them, filming and shouting frantic questions. Martha and Novick moved hastily to the Presidential limo, ignoring all questions and keeping their heads down; the car pulled off the airfield, headed for the White House. Aaron was up front with the driver, murmuring instructions into his radio to the Service staff awaiting them there.

"It's starting." She and Mike stared at each other.

"The White House is staked out," Aaron contributed from the front seat. "We'll get you inside as fast as we can, but the press is going to be all over you." His prediction was correct; on their arrival, the Service agents had to physically block some of the more determined journalists who were trying to accost them. Once inside, Martha went straight to the suite she'd shared with Charles. She'd hoped to be able to collapse and go right to sleep, but seeing his belongings spread about the room affected her more than she'd thought it would. It was as though he were still there, and the thought nauseated her. For a moment she considered moving to another room, but she was too tired. Once in bed, she pulled the sheet over her head as though to isolate herself, shivering. _I hate this place_. She'd never really liked living in the White House, and now she couldn't wait to leave.

The next morning came her interview with Attorney General Haslett, which she'd been dreading since the day before when she'd realized she was going to have to lie about the shooting of Adams. Fortunately the questioning session was brief; Haslett merely wanted to verify the information Aaron had already sworn to and passed on to her. She did so without hesitation, and relaxed, thinking the ordeal was over. She was wrong.

"Mrs. Logan, I can't tell you how much we appreciate your help in getting that recording for us. It gave us enough ammunition to invoke the 25th Amendment. Your husband will no longer be President."

Martha nodded with satisfaction. "And Charles will be going to jail. Do you think you know when the trial will begin?"

"We don't know that there's going to be a trial." She stared at him.

"But he admitted to complicity in David Palmer's death! How could there not be a trial?"

"His lawyers are raising some difficult questions. In fact, one of the things I wanted to ask you about was how he came to hire these attorneys. Have you or your husband ever used the firm of Dunlap and Tenney in the past?"

"No. I've never even heard of them. Why did he request them?"

"We don't know that he did request them. They simply showed up within ten minutes of the time Mr. Logan" – she noted that Charles was no longer being given his title – "arrived at my office."

"Simply showed up?" she repeated in bewilderment. "But how can that be? If he didn't request them, why were they allowed in?"

"They gave their names and said they were here to see your husband. One of them was a named partner in the firm, Joshua Tenney. He's normally known for defending white-collar criminals and high-ranking Mafia members. He's very good at what he does. As soon as Mr. Logan heard their names, he verified that they were his attorneys and we got nothing more out of him. We have reason to believe that they were hired to represent your husband by someone else."

"Who?"

"We don't know. What exactly did your husband tell you about this plot? Did he tell you who he was working with?"

"He said he hadn't intended for David Palmer to be killed. He said the man he'd hired had done that without his knowledge. Walt Cummings was involved somehow. That's really all I know. Have you found the man he was talking about? The one who killed Evelyn Martin and her daughter?"

"His name is Christopher Henderson, and he's dead. Jack Bauer killed him. We do have a recording from a CTU interrogation of Henderson, which definitely implies that your husband was not the instigator of this conspiracy. In fact, Mr. Logan may have been working for them, not the other way around."

Martha stared at Haslett, unable to say anything. Mike leaned forward and said, "I'd like to hear that recording. Do you have it here?"

"Come on, Jack, you can't really believe that Charles Logan masterminded all this by himself… You can't touch them, but they can touch you."

By the end of the tape Mike's face was buried in his hands. He shook his head. "I can't believe this. I can't believe I worked for this man and never realized he was capable of something like this."

"Cheer up, Mike," Martha snapped. "At least you weren't married to him."

The next hurdle was Hal Gardner's assumption of the title of Acting President of the United States that evening. Charles had been relieved of his duties but had refused to resign, so Gardner had made a statement for television but there was no formal swearing-in ceremony. Shortly afterward Martha found herself sitting with Hal and Beth Gardner, who apparently couldn't make up her mind whether this meeting was meant to be a condolence call or a notice of eviction. Martha almost found herself feeling sorry for Hal, who was clearly uncomfortable with the situation, and she had no wish to assert a territorial claim on the Executive Suite. She realized with amusement that Aaron, who was standing just outside the door, could probably hear every word they were saying.

"I want to make this easy for you," she said, focusing on Hal instead of Beth Gardner; the two women had never gotten along. "I have every intention of moving out of here as soon as possible. I can be out of the Executive Suite tomorrow."

"Please take as long as you need. I can't imagine what it must be like to try to move on top of everything else you're dealing with," he responded.

"We'd be happy to have you stay in one of the guest bedrooms for the time being, Martha," Beth Gardner offered insincerely.

Bitch. "Thank you, Beth, I think I will have to do that for the moment, but I don't want to inconvenience you any more than necessary. As soon as I find somewhere else to live I'll let you know and make arrangements. If the staff could help me put Charles's things in storage" – she noted with satisfaction that Beth had the grace to blush at this point – "that's really what I'm going to need the most help with."

Beth immediately offered to meet with the head of the White House support staff "and we'll get started on this first thing tomorrow morning." Martha swallowed her pride and accepted with thanks. As Beth left the room, she turned back to Hal Gardner.

"Mr. President," she began tentatively.

"Hal, please, Martha."

"Thank you, Hal. I talked to the Attorney General this morning and I have some questions about what he told me. Can I get some clarification from you? He said he wasn't sure there was going to be a trial." Hal Gardner had begun his career in criminal law, and from all accounts had excelled at it. Martha was in a mood to use any and all shortcuts at her disposal if it would net her more information, and she wanted Aaron to have a chance to hear their conversation.

"Are you familiar with the doctrine of spousal immunity? A husband or wife not being able to testify against his or her spouse?"

"Yes…" her shoulders slumped. "Damn. I never thought of that."

"Charles's attorneys are objecting to the recording you obtained. They don't want it admitted as evidence, obviously, and they're claiming that planting the transmitter on him without his consent was a violation of his personal rights. Plus, it was substituted while he was kidnapped and being held at gunpoint under circumstances of extreme intimidation. They're grabbing at everything they can think of, and they're doing a pretty good job."

"You mean he won't go to prison at all? Hal, you have no idea… I mean, you do, but you didn't see it like I did. I was there and I saw. He was ready to send the President of Russia, and his wife, and myself to our deaths to further his plan. He ordered an innocent Secret Service agent to be killed!"

"I'm not saying he won't go to prison. We're working with Joshua Tenney on a plea bargain. He's trying to get Charles to resign the Presidency, which he's so far refused to do, and we think we can get a three to five-year sentence for conspiracy to commit murder." He glanced at the door and smiled, then raised his voice slightly: "If it weren't for the testimony of Agent Pierce and yourself, we wouldn't even have that."

"Then it was all for nothing." Her voice was so low he could barely hear her.

"No, it wasn't. You did the best you could. You were up against some very clever and determined people, and frankly, you're lucky you survived. If Jack Bauer hadn't disappeared we'd have a much stronger case. Unfortunately, your husband realized what a danger Bauer was to him and probably took steps to get rid of him." Gardner read the defeat on Martha's face and tried again: "We owe you, Martha. The entire country should be standing up and thanking you right now. You did not fail. Please, believe me!"

"I believe you, Hal. I do. But I feel like I failed. I think of the people who died because of what my husband did and I feel like I failed." Her voice wavered; she stood quickly, hoping to get out of the room before she broke down. "I need to go get ready, I'm meeting Mike Novick later this evening and we're going to… see David."

He took her hand and looked at her, worried. "Martha, I wish there was something more I could say. If there's anything I can do, if you have more questions later, please feel free to talk to me any time. And I meant what I said about staying here as long as you want."

Martha made it out into the hall, grabbed a Kleenex and buried her face in it. As she stood in the hall trying to pull herself together, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Aaron whispered, "I'll see you tonight. I'm escorting you and Mike to the lying in state." She nodded and then left, unable to say anything. On returning to her room her first act was to head for the medicine cabinet and grab her pills; her second was a quick phone call to her psychiatrist ("No, Mrs. Logan, this is NOT the time to start decreasing your antidepressants."). After hanging up she looked at the bottle and thought, Some day, but not yet, then obediently took her dose.

Martha and Mike walked into the Rotunda shortly before midnight, escorted by Aaron and Agent Williams. To minimize any disturbance of the lying in state their visit had not been announced, but the press who were there immediately started filming. A loud buzz of comments from the file of viewers broke the silence as Martha took Mike's arm. They stood by the casket for a minute, neither of them saying anything, then moved back toward the exit. Once outside the public area, Mike was immediately pulled into a group of politicians, one a Senator, who had also attended Palmer's lying in state. He muttered a quick excuse to Martha, who was not in the mood to talk. "I'll be over here when you're ready," she said instead. "Take your time."

A look from Aaron sent Williams over to the wall out of earshot, doing his best to look as though he were guarding Novick. "This is a little public," he then said quietly, "but it's the best we can do for right now."

Both of them were looking around the room, standing next to each other but not making eye contact. "Aaron, did you hear what President Gardner said tonight?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I can't believe it. To think that Charles could get away with a slap on the wrist! A few years of jail time, at the most, for what he did… it's absurd."

"He's being punished. You don't need to worry about that. No matter what sentence he gets, he's already lost what he cares about most. The Presidency, and you." Startled, she looked directly at him. He confirmed what he said with a nod: "He wanted to believe you still cared about him. When he realized you'd helped Jack try to get that confession, that's what sent him over the edge at the end. He's going to have to live with that for the rest of his life."

"I hadn't thought of that." She felt marginally better.

Aaron quickly moved to another subject, as it was clear that Mike was winding up his conversation with the Senator. "I wanted to let you know, I've thought a lot about what you said yesterday." She looked at him questioningly. "About staying with the Service. I'm not going to leave."

Martha felt a thrill of surprise that she'd influenced his decision. "Oh, Aaron, I'm so glad," was all she was able to manage before Mike finished his goodbyes to the group and rejoined them with a satisfied look on his face. As they headed back to the parking area, Martha couldn't resist quizzing him: "Well, Mike, what was that about?"

"I may have found myself another job."

"You're amazing!"

"Practice, Martha, practice."

Aaron held the car door for her, but before the two men got in she noticed him speaking quietly to Novick. She speculated that he was bringing Mike up to date on what had happened that day as well as her emotional state. Normally this was the sort of thing she hated; it had always irritated her when Charles had spoken to her doctor, Walt Cummings or anyone else behind her back. Somehow, though, it gave her a warm feeling to know that Aaron was concerned enough to talk to Mike about her. Mike's protective attitude toward her during their ride back to the White House seemed to confirm this. He took the news of Martha's hasty move with disgust: "A _guest bedroom?_ Who does Beth Gardner think she is?"

"She thinks she's the First Lady, Mike, and she's right." Martha shrugged. "To be honest, I don't care. It's not worth fighting over. I just want out of there, but I haven't had time even to begin thinking about finding a place to live."

"Do you have a new executive assistant yet? You need somebody to help you with this. You've got other things to focus on."

"I haven't had time to work on finding one. It's all happening so fast, Mike."

Novick looked thoughtful. "That I can help you with. I'll send you a list of candidates tomorrow morning. These people are all good, Martha."

Mike was as good as his word, and Martha found herself confronted with a series of applicants the next morning. She'd hastily met with the Presidential staff manager regarding the items she wanted moved to her new bedroom versus storage, then took over one of the conference rooms and started skimming resumes. The candidates ranged from young, perky types to hardbitten disciplinarians. None of them seemed quite what she was looking for, but this didn't bother her when she realized that she now had the luxury of choosing her assistant herself; Evelyn had been more or less foisted on her by Walt Cummings. She was beginning to enjoy making her own decisions.

The last candidate of the morning seemed slightly different. She had an aura of calm competence and briskness explained by the military history on her resume. "Colonel Angie Johnston, Retired, ma'am."

Martha noted her accent: "You're from the South?"

"Texas, Mrs. Logan."

Martha glanced back at her resume. "You were General Mason's personal assistant?"

"Yes, for ten years, till he retired. I left the Army not too long after, I wanted to settle down and stay in one place and I liked Washington."

Martha eyed her for a moment, and then something prompted her to explain her situation. "Well, Angie, if you were in the military then you might be comfortable with semi-urgent situations - even a little bit of chaos. Right now I'm in the middle of moving, but I don't have anywhere to go yet. I have to make way for the Gardners, the White House staff is putting my things into storage for me and I'm in the middle of a legal case involving my husband. You're probably familiar with what's been going on."

"Yes, ma'am, I am." Angie thought for a moment. "Would you have the afternoon free to look at apartments if I could make arrangements?"

Martha's mouth dropped open. "Why, yes, I suppose so."

Angie picked up the phone. "You'll need someplace near the Federal district, and high security of course…" she broke off to speak to someone on the other end of the line. After about three minutes she ended the call and looked at Martha with a smile. "I know most of the realtors in Washington," she explained. "Military moves around a lot and it was part of my job to make housing arrangements for some of the Pentagon staff. I think you'll like what this guy can show you."

"Angie?"

"Yes, Mrs. Logan?"

"You're hired."

Angie grinned. "Thank you."

"I'll have to thank Mr. Novick for recommending you."

"Well, actually he didn't, ma'am. I was told about this job by someone else."

Martha was very surprised. "Oh? Who was that?"

"It was Agent Aaron Pierce, ma'am, of the Secret Service. I think you know him?"

"Oh my God."


	4. Chapter 4

Agent Pierce had called an urgent meeting of the senior Service agents to organize security plans for the Palmer funeral. They had agreed on the final arrangements and he was heading back to his office when his phone rang.

"Pierce here."

"Colonel Johnston, Agent Pierce."

"Angie? How'd it go?"

"I got the job. We're going to look at apartments this afternoon."

"Does she know I referred you?"

"Well, yes, but I didn't spill the beans till after she'd told me I was hired."

"And how did she take it?"

"I'd say she was very surprised. Pleased, I think, but surprised. I have a feeling you'll be hearing from her, sooner rather than later."

"What do you think of her, Angie?"

A chuckle. "I like her, Aaron. She'll be a lot more fun to work for than General Mason ever was."

"She can be a handful, you know."

"Yep, she's a firecracker, but you know my track record."

He smiled. "I sure do, that's why I sent you. I've got a question for you. Are you keeping up with your target practice these days?"

"I'll admit I've slacked off a bit. If you think it would be a good idea…"

"I do. Better safe than sorry. I have a feeling things may not be over and done with just yet."

"Well, you stay careful, Aaron, and I'll start practicing again."

"Great. Give my best to Marie. Talk to you later."

Click. Less than five minutes later, the phone rang again:

"Pierce here."

"This is Martha Logan."

Aaron raised an eyebrow. "Mrs. Logan. A pleasure to hear from you." A few moments of silence followed. _This feels like a Mexican standoff_, he thought.

"I've just interviewed a Colonel Angie Johnston. She says she's a friend of yours."

"We're from the same town, ma'am. She went to high school with my brother."

"So she said. It looks like she's going to be my new personal assistant."

"I'm glad you found her satisfactory, Mrs. Logan."

"She's incredibly organized." Martha was warming up a bit. "I told her I needed to find a place to live and the next thing I knew she had a realtor lined up for me!"

"She's very efficient, had to be. She'll never tell you this herself, but General Mason was a pretty demanding boss. Temperamental, too, but she had him eating out of her hand after a few months."

"Oh? And are you implying something by that, Agent Pierce?" By now there was a definite smile in her voice.

"Implying something, ma'am? Never."

"Well, I'll probably be eating out of her hand soon myself," she admitted.

"She's one of the kindest people I know. And she knows how to keep a secret. If you need someone to talk to, you could do a lot worse than her. When I went through my divorce, she was about the only person I could stand to be around."

"That's good to know. Thanks, Aaron. Thank you for recommending her."

"You're welcome. Glad I could help. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing better, I think. Just knowing I'll be out of the White House soon makes all the difference."

"I'll miss you," he answered before he could think about it.

"I'll miss you, too, Aaron." A pause. "I'm not leaving just yet, and I'll be at the funeral tomorrow. I imagine you will too."

"Yes, I was just in a meeting to finalize security for it. I know where you'll be sitting. I'll see you there."

"I'm sorry you'll have to work. You haven't really had a chance – have you? – to say goodbye."

Aaron found it difficult to speak for a moment. "I – no, I haven't. But in my experience, funerals are never the best place to do that anyway. I'll say goodbye to him in my own time."

"I'll be thinking of you. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodbye –" while he was hesitating over whether or not to call her by name, she'd hung up.

Martha realized she had an hour before she and Angie were due to meet with the realtor. She eyed the paper on which she'd scribbled down Mike Novick's list of divorce lawyers, thought for a moment, and then went through her address book looking for an acquaintance of hers who'd been divorced the previous year. She'd been married to a prominent Washington lobbyist who Martha had always privately despised. _How can she stand to live with that man?,_ she'd often asked herself; it brought her up short to realize that her friends would now be wondering the same thing about her. Setting these thoughts aside, she took a chance and dialed the number.

"Jane, it's Martha Logan."

"Martha! How are you? Are you all right?" Hearing the concern in her voice was enough to bring Martha to the verge of tears, but she cleared her throat and forged ahead.

"I'm fine, thanks. Listen, Jane…" she decided to be blunt. "I need a recommendation for a divorce lawyer. I have a list here of five or six. Can you tell me who you used last year?"

"My attorney was Susan Margate. She's good, I'd definitely recommend her." Martha was delighted to see Margate's name on Mike's list.

"That's great, Jane. I'll give her a call. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing well. Things have calmed down. I'll tell you this, Susan told me it would take me six months to start feeling halfway normal again, and she was right. Let me pass that along for what it's worth."

Martha was relieved not to have to listen to empty commiserations; Jane seemed to know that what she really needed was advice. "Would she perhaps have been through this herself?"

"Yes, she has. It does make a difference to be able to talk to somebody who knows what it's like."

"I'm sure it does. She sounds better and better. Jane, I'm in the middle of moving right now, but if it's okay with you I'd like to make a lunch date as soon as I have room to breathe. I'd love a chance to talk to you some more."

"Any time, Martha. If you need to vent or if you just need a break, let me know."

"Thanks, Jane. I'll call you soon." Martha hung up and sat back, stunned. She'd thought of herself as isolated for so long that it was a radical idea to realize that she had access to potential friends and allies for the asking. She had no reason to think of herself as cut off from humanity at large. The sense of empowerment she'd felt earlier in the day was growing. Taking advantage of it, she quickly dialed Susan Margate's office number. At first she was rebuffed by the secretary, but dropping the name "Martha Logan" got her a quick entrée to the attorney herself.

"Ms. Martha Logan?"

"Yes, Ms. Margate. You were recommended by two friends of mine, and if you know who I am I think you can imagine why I'm calling. Have you been following recent developments regarding my husband?"

"It's safe to say everyone in Washington has, Ms. Logan."

"I want to start divorce proceedings as soon as possible. I was wondering if I could meet with you to discuss how best to do this."

"I'd be happy to meet with you this evening, if that's convenient for you. Do you want to come to my office, or shall I come to you?"

"To be honest, I'm in the middle of moving. If it isn't too much trouble…" Martha began hesitantly.

"Not a problem. Would eight o'clock be all right?" Martha assented. "I'll see you at eight, then." Martha quickly gave Susan Margate instructions for admittance to the White House and ended the call, feeling somewhat numb. _So it's that easy_, she thought. The idea of ending her marriage had been with her as a vague plan since her confrontation with Charles in the airport hangar. Mike's implicit support had encouraged her, but her impending move from the White House had stimulated her to action. It was time to start structuring her new life, to put it together as she wanted it.

A thought flashed into her mind: Aaron's casual reference to his divorce. Had she ever realized that he was divorced? She'd known so little about him up until the last few days. Would Angie be willing to talk to her about Aaron, or would she view it as sheer nosiness? Realizing that she'd be late for the realtor's appointment unless she hurried, Martha grabbed her cell phone and headed down the hall.

The walkthrough with the realtor took less time than Martha had thought it would. Not sure quite what she was looking for, she began to realize that Angie's questions were focused on security arrangements, doormen, and the like. In the second apartment they looked at she felt a chill go down her spine when the realtor enthused over the view from the living room, only to be stopped by a quick shake of the head from the former colonel.

"Ma'am, look at it this way. It's temporary housing and safety should be your biggest concern. Picture windows are not your best friend right now."

Martha lowered her voice. "Do you think there's really a chance of something happening?"

"Hopefully not, but I know Agent Pierce is concerned. He mentioned it to me this morning." Angie decided to leave out Aaron's recommendation to brush up on her shooting skills.

"I trust Agent Pierce. If he thinks I should be careful, believe me, I'll do as he says." Martha moved on to eyeball the kitchen, wondering how to keep Angie talking about Aaron. "He spoke very highly of you."

"Well, I think very highly of him. I've known him since we were kids, but I hadn't seen him in years – then I ran into him one day at the Pentagon. He was there with President Palmer. We've sort of stayed in touch since then. He tells me what's going on back home from time to time."

"You haven't been back?"

"No. I don't have all that much reason to, since my parents are dead. There's not much I miss about small-town life, and Aaron's memories of Texas are probably happier than mine."

"Small towns aren't always the paradise they're cracked up to be." Martha wasn't sure what Angie was referring to, but didn't feel she had the right to ask. "So you joined the Army and got out of town?"

"That's right. Best decision I ever made."

"Aaron told me you were a big help to him during his divorce."

Angie looked surprised: "He told you about that?"

"Yes. You know, until today I hadn't even realized he was divorced. I feel like I should have known, somehow, after everything we went through. I don't know how much he's told you about the terrorist attack, but he saved my life."

"He told me you saved his too."

"That was just dumb luck. I don't feel I have the right to take credit for it," Martha said vaguely, hoping to avoid discussing the details. Surely, she thought, Aaron wouldn't have told her the truth of Adams' death. Remembering Aaron's description: "She knows how to keep a secret," she decided to go on. "He didn't just save my life physically. Emotionally I was a basket case. I still am, really. He was the only one who believed me that day, that there was something more going on. That David Palmer tried to warn me. If it weren't for him…" she made eye contact with Angie for the first time since they'd started talking about Aaron, "I'd most likely be in a padded cell somewhere."

"I know he's concerned about you. He didn't tell me anything specific, but I think this is more than just professional pride." Angie realized that Martha's expression was happier than it had been all afternoon, and added: "And I can tell you that neither one of us thinks you belong in a padded cell, that's for sure."

Martha smiled. They were now standing in the master bedroom; the realtor was waiting for them back in the entry hall. "Safety wise, do you think the last place we looked at would be better?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do. I can have Aaron take a look and give us his opinion as well – in fact, I'd really prefer that he do that."

"All right. If he agrees, I might as well take it. I have a meeting tonight at eight, and I know Aaron won't have time tomorrow because of the funeral; how about the day after that?"

"That should be fine, I'll call him to check his schedule. Do you need help with your meeting tonight, Mrs. Logan?"

"I don't think so. It's with a divorce attorney named Susan Margate, and she's coming to the White House. I'm going to go back, start packing and wait for her. I think President Gardner may be arranging some sort of reception after the funeral tomorrow, but I'm not sure. I heard something about it from the staff manager this morning."

"I'll go back with you. I'll meet with the staff manager to make sure your stuff doesn't get lost in the move and check on storage arrangements for what you don't want to take with you, and I'll find out about the reception as well." Martha mentally awarded Angie points for not asking further questions about her divorce plans.

By eight o'clock that night, Martha was well into the process of sorting her clothing and belongings. The apartment she was planning to lease didn't have all that much in the way of closet space and she was starting to realize that it might be a good idea to donate a large portion of her wardrobe to charity. _The shoes alone should get me into heaven_, she thought wryly. Two days ago she'd seen nothing but an empty future; it lifted her spirits to realize how much she'd accomplished since then. She headed back to the conference room where she'd interviewed Angie that morning. The woman awaiting her there was petite, cheerful and full of energy.

"Susan Margate, Ms. Logan." She shook hands briskly.

"How do you do."

"Do you mind my asking who recommended me?"

"Not at all. Mike Novick was the first person who gave me your name, and my friend Jane Hughes told me you were a really big help when she got her divorce last year."

"Ah, yes, Jane. I hope she's doing well?"

"I think so. She sounded fine when we spoke today; she's in really good spirits."

"Well, now, Ms. Logan, the first thing I need to do is to serve your husband notice of your intention to pursue divorce. How can I get in touch with him?"

The meeting proceeded more smoothly than Martha had hoped. Susan Margate grimaced slightly when Martha informed her that Dunlap and Tenney were representing Charles, but made no comment other than "They're specialists in criminal law, so they'll probably subcontract with someone to represent him in the divorce suit." She promised to send the initial paperwork to Joshua Tenney the next day, and with that their conference concluded. "I'll call you as soon as I hear anything," were her final words as she headed for the door.

Martha dressed carefully for the funeral the following morning. She was dreading the inevitable television cameras and hoped she'd be seated quietly in a back row somewhere, but her hopes were dashed early on when Hal Gardner insisted on her riding to the Cathedral in the limo with Beth and himself. "You're the hero here," he explained. "You're going to be seated up front with us; you've got to be seen." Martha reflected that Hal was probably calculating that it would do his image good to be seen on good terms with her as well, but she couldn't blame him. _I wouldn't have his job right now for anything_, she thought. It was ironic that Gardner, who had made no secret of his ambition to hold the Presidency the whole time he'd worked with Charles, now had achieved his goal under the worst possible circumstances.

As she and the Gardners were escorted to their seats, Martha greeted Wayne Palmer and the Palmer children, then occupied herself by quietly glancing around looking for Aaron. Although he was nowhere to be seen, she knew that somewhere he was there. She braced herself for a long, emotional service and reached into her purse to confirm that she had plenty of Kleenex.

There had indeed been a reception after the funeral, and Martha had dutifully attended. She pleaded a headache after about forty-five minutes, realizing that she had become the focus of the gathering and that Beth Gardner was furious about it. Novick's appreciation of the situation didn't help matters; every time she looked over at him he was eyeing Beth and smirking. After talking to Wayne Palmer for a few minutes, she made her way over to Mike and told him to behave himself.

"I can't help it, Martha, this is better than a ticket to the circus."

"I'm glad you find funerals so entertaining."

"It's the human condition. You get a great chance to observe social behavior in situations like this." Under her glare, he obediently switched the subject. "Did you get a chance to interview any of those PA candidates I sent you?"

"Why, yes," she said quickly, wondering how she was going to explain what had happened. "They were terrific people, Mike, and I appreciate your help. I wound up hiring a Colonel Angie Johnston, she's recently retired from the Army."

"Johnston. Johnston." He was frowning. "I don't recall the name."

"She wasn't on your list, but I didn't realize that till after I'd hired her."

"How did she find out about the job?"

Martha took a breath. "Aaron Pierce recommended her."

Mike choked on an hors d'œuvre. "_Aaron?_"

"Yes, Mike, and she's wonderful. She helped me find an apartment in less than twelve hours. She used to work for General Mason at the Pentagon."

Mike grunted. "How long did she last with him? Five minutes?"

"Ten years, actually."

Mike looked impressed. "She must be good. From all I've heard, Mason was pretty hard on his staff." Martha was relieved to see that Mike wasn't miffed about her selection. She left him to circulate and was pleased when he gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. "Get some rest," he advised and wandered over to chat with the Senator he'd spoken to at the lying in state.

Martha stepped into the hall with relief, planning to head back to her room. She was confronted with the sight of Wayne and Aaron talking in low tones, but as she headed up to them the men shook hands and ended their conversation. Both of them looked subdued.

"Goodbye, Aaron, and thanks for everything. Mrs. Logan, it was really good to see you. Thanks for everything you did. I know my brother trusted you."

"Goodbye, Wayne." Martha found herself tearing up again. Impulsively, she hugged him.

"I'm going to collect the kids and get out of here," he said gruffly, patting her back. He stepped back inside the room, leaving Martha with Aaron.

"I'm going back to my room." He said what she hoped he'd say:

"I'll go with you." He called Agent Mitchell over and left him on guard outside the reception; Martha greeted him with a smile, which made Mitchell blush.

"How did things go during the funeral?" she asked as they walked up the hall. "Any problems?"

"None, it was quiet." A few more steps, then: "Angie Johnston tells me you've found somewhere to live."

"Yes, she wanted you to check it out. It's good enough for now. Angie made it clear that safety was the big issue, so I didn't quibble about things like the view or the size of the kitchen."

"I'll take a look at it tomorrow." They were at the door of her room; Martha looked at him, concerned.

"You look tired." She cast around frantically for something else to say, but could think of nothing, and Aaron seemed too distracted for conversation.

"It's been a long day." He touched her arm and added: "I'd better get back. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Martha stepped into her room and tossed her purse and hat onto the bed, then hesitated. She knew Aaron was upset. On an impulse she left the room and started retracing her steps, then suddenly stopped. He was leaning against the wall in the most shadowed part of the hallway with his hand over his face. Without saying anything, Martha went to him and put her hands on his shoulders. She heard him sigh, and then he moved to put his arms around her.

They stood in the hallway for a very long time, saying nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

The morning after David Palmer's funeral Martha woke up late, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off her chest. She closed her eyes again and spent a full minute savoring the relief of knowing that particular ordeal was over and done with. Her thoughts drifted to the previous evening, when she'd found Aaron in the hallway grieving for David. During the past week she'd tried to explain away her attraction to him in various ways: as an adrenaline-fueled reaction to the fact that they'd both nearly lost their lives the day of the terrorist attack, as empathy for the injuries he'd suffered, or as appreciation for his unfailing support. After last night she knew she could no longer argue herself into believing that was all it was. She had gone to him intending to comfort him, but she'd been rocked by the intensity of her physical reaction when he put his arms around her. She was trying to relive exactly how wonderful it had felt when the phone rang.

"It's Susan Margate, Ms. Logan. I've got some news for you. I heard back from Joshua Tenney this morning."

"Yes?" Martha grabbed for a pen and notepad.

"Apparently your husband was very upset when he heard you were filing for divorce." The attorney was picking her words carefully. "He's insisting that he wants to see you; he refused even to discuss the possibility of divorce until he's had a chance to talk to you."

"To _talk_ to me? What can he possibly have to say? Does he really think I'm going to change my mind about this?"

"I don't know what he's thinking, Ms. Logan. It's possible he isn't thinking at all. It's not unusual for people to have a huge emotional reaction when they hear their spouse is filing for divorce, no matter how many marital problems they've had."

"I see." Martha thought for a moment. "What did my husband's attorney have to say? Does he think I should see him?"

"He thought it would be a good idea if you did. I got the impression that he'd been trying to reason with your husband and had gotten nowhere. He's willing to make arrangements for you to see Mr. Logan today at his office."

"I could do that, I suppose." Martha hesitated. "I'll be honest with you, I'm a little nervous about this. My last interaction with my husband was very unpleasant." She closed her eyes and forced herself to add, "He hit me."

Susan Margate took this calmly. She gently asked, "Was this the first time, or has this happened before?"

"Oh, never. Never before. He was very angry; he'd realized that I was helping to gather evidence against him."

"Would it help if I came with you?"

Martha was incredibly relieved. "It would help a lot. Could you do that?"

"Of course."

"Thank you, Ms. Margate, I really appreciate this."

"Call me Susan, and you're very welcome." They settled on a time late that afternoon, and Susan rang off after promising to call Tenney back.

Martha glanced at her bedside clock, cursed under her breath, and hit speed dial. "Angie, I'm afraid I might be a little late…"

"It's okay, Aaron's running late as well. He had to meet with President Gardner and there's been a delay of some sort."

"Great. I'll be ready in twenty minutes."

Aaron's inspection of the apartment was quick. As Martha had expected, he focused on the building's security system, windows and doors and spoke to the building supervisor about surveillance arrangements; his only general remark was "It's a little on the small side."

"That doesn't bother me. I'll put some of my things into storage, but I'm going to donate or give away as much as I can."

He looked at her for a moment, puzzled by her lack of concern. "Security wise, I think this is fine, but are you sure it's what you want?"

"Yes, I'm sure. It's just temporary, and I need to move somewhere fast. The truth is I don't really know what I want right now, but I know I'm going to have to stay in Washington for the moment. At least until my divorce goes through," she added, stealing a glance at him. Getting no visible reaction, she swiftly turned to her assistant: "That reminds me, Angie, I've got a meeting at five. I need to meet with Charles – my husband – and his attorney."

"You're _meeting_ with him? Why?" If Martha had wanted a reaction out of Aaron, she had one now; he sounded shocked and angry.

"When he found out I was filing for divorce, he lost it. He's refusing even to consider it. He's going to fight it tooth and nail unless I talk to him."

Aaron put his arm out, palm up. "Ma'am, I don't think that's a good idea."

Martha's temper started to flare. "Look, Aaron, I don't like this any more than you do, but I don't really have a choice. Charles' attorney tried to talk to him about it and he couldn't change his mind. He's actually the one requesting that I come to his office. I don't think he would do that unless he were desperate –"

"– or unless he were trying to get you there for some other reason. You know there were other people working with your husband. We know he didn't hire that attorney himself. We have to consider the possibility that you're being set up for some sort of attack." Aaron hadn't raised his voice, but he was getting steadily more emphatic.

"My attorney is coming with me, and Dunlap and Tenney is a well-known firm. If I were attacked in their office, what do you think would happen to their reputation? I see your point, but I really don't think anything's going to happen. If I get there and the lobby's filled with ninjas, you can say 'I told you so.'"

"Mrs. Logan, as the First Lady –"

"I am _not_ the First Lady! You can't tell me what to do any more, Aaron." Martha stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door just before the lump in her throat overwhelmed her. _I'm just another responsibility to him_, she thought as tears streamed down her cheeks. _I'm such an idiot_.

On the other side of the door, Aaron looked helplessly at Angie. She beckoned him a safe distance away, then muttered, "Well, that didn't go too well, did it."

"She can't see him. I won't allow it." Aaron was staring worriedly toward the closed door.

Angie moved to stand in front of him. "Aaron, what's going on here? You got me into this and I need to know what kind of situation I'm dealing with."

"You heard what I said; I just don't think it's safe. I don't know what she's thinking. To see him again…." His sentence trailed off. Avoiding Angie's gaze, Aaron began moving around the apartment again. "This place is all wrong for her. I wish she'd stay at the White House."

"For her, or for you?"

Aaron finally stopped and stared at Angie. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about, Aaron. Stop trying to sell me a bill of goods. I haven't seen you like this since Diane left."

"I care about her safety. I care about _her_." After a moment he looked down. "You're right, Angie, I can't think straight where she's concerned. She's one of the best people I've ever met in my life and if she gets hurt again I don't think I could stand it."

"She couldn't stop talking about you the other day. I got the impression she wanted to know all about you, but she was trying to restrain herself." Aaron stared in surprise; Angie met his look and nodded. "I think you're right to be concerned, but she's right too. She isn't your responsibility any more, that's the reason you got me here in the first place. You have to let her make her own decisions. Give me a chance to talk to her?"

Aaron shrugged. "Go ahead."

Angie rapped on the door. On the other side, Martha hastily crushed out her cigarette on the window ledge. "Yes?"

"Ma'am, it's Angie. Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Is Agent Pierce still there?"

"Yes, ma'am. I don't think he's going to be leaving in the immediate future. Shall I send him in?"

"No!"

"Well, Mrs. Logan, either you come out or he goes in there. We need to talk to you about this meeting to see how we can best assist you."

Ten seconds later Martha emerged from the bedroom. "There's no lock on that door," she muttered. "Report that to the realtor, will you, Angie?"

"I'll get right on it, ma'am." Angie made a note.

Reluctantly, Martha started to smile. "Have you ever considered a career as a lion tamer?"

"Been there, done that, ma'am," Angie responded, completely deadpan.

At five o'clock that afternoon Martha arrived at the offices of Dunlap and Tenney with both Susan and Angie in tow. Angie had diplomatically solved the problem of Martha's safety by suggesting that she accompany them, making sure Martha knew she was armed. Their group was quickly escorted into a pleasant-looking room lined with legal tomes. Knowing the reputation of the firm, Martha had expected a plush, even garish setting; she was mildly surprised to see what was clearly a comfortable but basic workspace.

Joshua Tenney rose from his desk and offered Martha his hand. "I appreciate your coming, Mrs. Logan." She introduced her companions and he greeted them pleasantly, raising an eyebrow at Susan Margate: "I don't believe we've met before, Counselor, but I certainly know your reputation. It's a pleasure."

"Same here," Susan replied with a grin.

Tenney quickly ushered Martha into a smaller room directly connected to his office. Sensing her jumpiness, he offered her the seat nearest the door. "We'll be right outside, Mrs. Logan. I'll talk to your attorney for a bit while you and Charles meet. Just call if you need us." _He must be used to nervous spouses_, she thought.

A minute later Charles came in. She stood, and they looked at each other silently for a few moments.

"You're looking well, Charles. I see you got your clothes?" He was wearing suit and tie, and was shaved. He might have been headed for a Cabinet meeting rather than a jail cell.

"Yes." He was looking at her in a way she couldn't quite define. He'd come in looking angry, but now he looked as if she'd surprised him in some way. "You're looking well yourself. I suppose being single agrees with you."

"As a matter of fact, it does. So does not being the First Lady anymore."

"Joshua Tenney tells me you're finding a new place to live."

"After Beth Gardner put me in the guest bedroom, I realized she was trying to tell me something."

He snorted in disgust. "I suppose she's reveling in being the First Lady?"

"She is. To be honest, she'll probably do a better job than I ever did."

The preliminaries over with, they were both now seated. Charles assumed his "be reasonable" look and placed his folded hands on the table as if he were conducting a meeting. "Now, Marty. I wanted to talk to you about this divorce idea of yours. Do you really think that's… necessary?"

"Yes, Charles. I don't want to be married to you anymore. Surely you don't need to ask why?"

"What does Dr. Young think about this?"

"I haven't asked her, Charles. She's my psychiatrist, not my life advisor. The only topic I discuss with her is my medication dosage." Martha took a moment to congratulate herself on staying calm. Charles was looking more and more surprised. _He thought he'd be able to talk me out of it_, she realized. _Well, he can't_.

"I don't know that this is a good idea, Martha. I really don't."

She stared at him. "Do you know what's been going on the last couple of days, Charles? Have your attorneys brought you up to speed? I thought things were bad when you were arrested at the airport, but it's only been getting worse. Do you know Evelyn and her daughter are dead? They were murdered by that man you hired, Christopher Henderson" – she saw his reaction and answered it – "yes, I know who he is. After Evelyn made that recording implicating you, he got it from her by kidnapping her daughter. She was eleven years old, Charles! _Eleven_!" Martha gripped the table edge, willing herself not to cry. "How can you possibly justify that?"

For the first time he looked honestly shocked. "I didn't know, Marty! I swear to God I didn't know!"

"You just told Henderson to fix it'? Is that all?"

"I had to get that recording back. I didn't know what he was going to do."

"You know the tragic part about this, Charles? None of it had to happen. We would never have set the world on fire, but we could have been happy. You would have done well enough as President, but you had to make a grab for instant immortality."

"It wasn't supposed to end like this, Marty."

"I know that. It all happened step by step, didn't it? That's how evil starts, Charles. Nobody wakes up one day and says, I'm going to spearhead an operation that will kill dozens of innocent Americans and lead to the biggest government coverup in history.' It all happens one step at a time. That's how those people you worked for drew you in –"

"Shhh!" She stared at him.

"Charles, CTU knows –"

"I said be quiet! Are you trying to get me killed?" She was stunned at the look of terror on his face, but obediently lowered her voice.

"Charles, it's just you and me in here. I'm not trying to get you to tell me anything incriminating. I told you, I already know. Surely it's got to be safe here?"

"Who do you think Tenney works for? It isn't me. He's right outside that door. If he overhears us I'm as good as dead."

Martha felt a sudden stab of pity for her husband. "But he's defending you, Charles. He seems like he knows what he's doing."

"He does. But he'll only defend me as long as I behave myself. I take the fall. Those are the rules. I instigated this plot and that's all anyone is ever going to hear from me."

Martha stared at him. _It's a trap_, she thought. She realized that Charles was completely without options. He deserved to go to jail, but he would take all the blame and his co-conspirators would go free, untouched even by suspicion. She leaned forward:

"Charles, listen. Just do as he says. From what I've heard, you won't be in jail for very long. You'll have a chance to rebuild your life when you get out."

"If I knew you'd be waiting for me, Marty, I could do that."

"That isn't going to happen, Charles. I'm sorry, but it's not. I've learned a lot about myself this week. I'm not anywhere near as helpless as you thought I was. I've been making my own decisions and I like it. Some of them will probably be mistakes, but no matter what I'm not going back to you." She saw the desolation on his face and forced herself to remember his ugly behavior toward her the last time she'd seen him. "I've learned to depend on myself and so can you."

"You owe me, Martha."

"I _owe_ you? After everything that's happened? Trying to send me back to Vermont, letting me think you didn't believe me, leaving me to die in the motorcade attack –"

"I tried to get you out. I was trying to protect you. Everything I did that day, I did with you in mind."

Martha shook her head. "I can't believe you're saying this."

"Why do you think I finally told you, Marty? God knows I didn't want to. I knew it would make you hate me. But I did it to save your life. _They_ –" he nodded toward the door – "wanted you dead. I told them no. I told them I could convince you to stay quiet."

"And it almost worked." Remembering the events of that night, Martha grew angry enough to confront him: "I saw Agent Adams attack Aaron Pierce. Did your attorney tell you that? I know you told Adams to kill Aaron. How can you possibly explain ordering the death of an innocent man?"

"It isn't what you think! I didn't want Aaron killed. I gave him a choice. I offered to set him free, I offered him any job he wanted and he refused."

Martha was stunned, then deeply indignant. "You tried to bargain with _Aaron_?"

"I tried to reason with him. I treated him with respect, Martha, and he…" Charles' face darkened, remembering.

"He what, Charles?" He didn't seem to have heard her, and she did not ask again. They sat in silence for a few moments.

"Charles. You told me you did what you did for the sake of the country. If you meant that, there's still something you can do."

"What is it?"

"Resign. You'll never get the Presidency back; you know that isn't going to happen. If you resign, Hal can assume full Presidential duties and start trying to put the country back together. He's got enough on his plate as it is. The least you can do is to do that for him."

"That's all? I asked you to come here so we could try to stay together, and that's all you have to say to me?"

"You're right that I owe you, Charles." Martha spoke reluctantly, but she knew what he'd told her was the truth. "I know you saved my life, and I appreciate it. I'll do what I can for you, but what I do is up to me, not you. If you need anything, have your attorneys get in touch with me and I'll get it for you. If you want me to call, if you want me to visit, I'll do it. But that's as far as it goes. Everything's changed, and it's over. I'm telling you to resign for your good, not just Hal's, not just the country's. Trying to hang on to the Presidency won't get you anywhere. You might as well do the honorable thing."

He swallowed, looked down at the table, and nodded. "All right, Marty."

As Charles was escorted out, Martha, Susan and Angie stood waiting in Joshua Tenney's office. Martha was feeling slightly lightheaded with triumph. As Tenney returned, she stepped forward. "Could I have a word with you for just a second?" She gestured toward the room where she'd met with Charles. He looked puzzled, but agreed and followed her into the room.

Martha didn't sit down. "Mr. Tenney, as you know I'm planning to divorce Charles, but his safety is still my concern. If anything happens to him, a lot of questions are going to be asked and I'll make it my business to find out who's responsible." She gave him a direct look and added, "I think you know what I'm talking about."

Tenney frowned briefly. "I do, Mrs. Logan. I can assure you that as far as I'm concerned your husband is quite safe. My job is to defend him, and I'm doing that to the best of my ability. He's been suspicious of me ever since I started working with him. I won't go so far as to say paranoid,' but it's been difficult enough that we offered him the option to seek another firm to defend him. He refused."

"I see. Well, I can give you one piece of good news. I think I've convinced him to resign."

Tenney gave her a look of real gratitude. "Thank you, Mrs. Logan. That will help a lot. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"If you can convince him not to fight the divorce, you'll have done me a huge favor. I did promise him I would stay in touch. If he needs anything or if he wants me to visit, let me know."

Tenney looked slightly surprised. "I will. It's kind of you to do that."

"I realized today that I'm the closest thing to a friend he has left. Besides, we were married almost twenty-five years. It's not so easy to walk away from that."

"Unfortunately, many of my clients don't seem to have a problem doing exactly that," Tenney responded cynically. "But I appreciate it, Mrs. Logan, and I will stay in touch. Besides," he added with a smile, "I like your attorney. I think working with her will prove to be a challenge."

After dropping Susan back at her office, Martha and Angie returned to the White House to finalize arrangements for Martha's move. As soon as they'd left Dunlap and Tenney, Angie had called Aaron to let him know that everything had gone well. He met them on the way to Martha's room, looking mildly anxious.

"How are you?"

Martha smiled and took his hand. "I'm fine, Aaron."

Angie gave them a quick look. "I'll go ahead and meet you there." She slipped away before Martha could say anything.

"Why don't we go in here. I'd like to talk to you for a minute." Aaron gestured to a small meeting room down the hall. Once inside, he closed the door and looked at her for a second, then walked over to where she was standing.

"I wanted a chance to apologize. I overreacted this morning."

"You didn't overreact. Everything went fine, but the truth is, you could have been right. It never occurred to me that it might have been a setup for an attack. I was glad Angie was there."

"It wasn't just that. Angie made me admit this morning that there's more to this than me feeling responsible for your safety." They were looking directly at each other now. "I was terrified that he'd convince you to go back to him, that he'd somehow talk you into it."

"He tried. I told him no. I did promise to visit him, I felt I had to do that much. But I told him there was no way we were going to stay married."

"Visit him?" He shook his head. "If you'll forgive my saying so, that's more than he deserves."

"You're probably right, but he did save my life. Those people he worked with apparently wanted me dead too, but he convinced them that I would stay quiet. That's why he told me everything." She hesitated. "He told me more than that. He told me he'd tried to get you to do the same thing. I don't know what to say, Aaron…"

"You don't have to say anything, Martha."

"I feel ashamed. I really do."

He took her gently by the shoulders. "Well, for one thing, he was your husband, so it's understandable that you'd listen to him. And for another, you changed your mind. You're the one who stopped him, not me." He paused for a moment. "There's one more thing. Ever since last night I've been wanting to thank you for everything you've done for me this week."

"What I've done for you? That can't have been all that much, compared to everything you've done for me."

"You made me believe in myself again. If it weren't for you I would have quit my job. And last night you were there for me when I needed you."

Martha reached up and pulled him closer. "You've always been there for me." They looked at each other for a moment and then, unable to stand it any longer, he leaned in and kissed her. She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

"Martha –"

"Do it again."


	6. Chapter 6

"We should go."

"You're right. Angie's probably waiting."

Neither of them moved.

"If we get caught in here, you'll lose your job."

He held her tighter. "I don't care." They both smiled, then turned their heads at the sound of voices in the corridor. Reluctantly, they let go and moved apart.

Aaron listened at the door for a moment, confirming that the hall was empty of traffic. He nodded to Martha, opened the door and stood aside. No one saw them slip out of the room; they walked silently back up the hall and joined Angie. Not wanting to leave without a word, he took her hand and lingered in the doorway for a moment: "Now that the funeral's over, things are starting to get busy again. You may not see much of me the next few days."

Martha nodded. "I'll call you and let you know what's going on as far as the move. Thanks for coming with us today, Aaron." She squeezed his hand; he smiled at her and turned away. A moment later, Angie brushed past Martha with a brief apology: "Sorry, ma'am, I've got to talk to Aaron for a second." She caught up to him, handed him a tissue and muttered, "Get that lipstick off quick."

The next few days were given over to planning the move. Having signed the lease, Martha was eager to leave the White House as soon as possible. After briefly considering the possibility of shipping some of her furniture from California, she shelved the idea and went shopping with Angie instead. On a whim, she called Jane Hughes and invited her along; the trip was a success in every respect. With her military background, Angie was able to recommend a furnishings warehouse ("It doesn't have to look like Ikea, ma'am") that was much less expensive than Martha had anticipated, and Jane turned out to have a talent for decoration. On inspecting the apartment, she announced, "Bring all your tchotchkes, Martha, we're going to accessorize the hell out of this place."

"Good. I don't want it to look like a temporary bachelor pad if I can help it."

"Don't worry, it won't."

Angie's packing system was meticulous: She kept careful count of the number of boxes that were packed, organized them by content and labeled them with an identifying symbol to make sure there was no mix-up. "Once when I moved," she explained, "I wound up with a whole bunch of stuff the moving company sent me by mistake. I opened the first box and found a leather collar and chains. It turned out to belong to a guy who was into domination."

Martha started to laugh. "Was he embarrassed?"

"No, mostly annoyed. He wanted to make sure I hadn't damaged or stolen any of his stuff." Angie rolled her eyes. "It took three weeks to get it all straightened out."

On her last night at the White House Martha had dinner with Hal and Beth Gardner. The evening was successful, as the impending move had put Beth in a good mood; she was eager to share some of her plans as First Lady, and Martha was more than happy to listen. After dinner they moved from the dining room for coffee; in response to a look from her husband, Beth excused herself after about fifteen minutes.

"Martha, I wanted a chance to talk to you before you leave. Is everything going all right?"

"Everything's fine, Hal. I realize this may sound strange, but I'm feeling better than I have in a long time. I don't think I was ever cut out to be First Lady, to be honest. It's a relief to know I won't have to do this any more."

"I understand you're the one who persuaded Charles to resign. I really appreciate your help. How is he doing?"

"Okay, I guess, considering. He's depressed about the divorce, but I made it clear that I wasn't going to stay with him. After everything that's come out, I simply couldn't. From what I've heard, he's become more resigned about the plea bargain issue and he's not going to fight that, either. I met his attorney, Joshua Tenney, and he seems capable. I liked him better than I thought I would, actually."

Hal nodded. "If Charles doesn't fight the charges that will be a big relief. With his cooperation, we can put this behind us and try to move on."

Martha thought this sounded absurdly optimistic; on the other hand, what else could she have expected Hal to say? Again she was forced to realize what a horrible position Charles had left him in. She tried to carry on the conversation in the same vein. "I told him I thought it would be the best thing for the country, and I think that helped change his mind."

The President smiled. "So you've helped us yet again. At this rate you'll be a candidate for the Medal of Honor any day now." After a moment he added, "I'll be honest, Martha, I wanted to talk to you tonight because I need a favor. I hate to ask this of you after everything you've done already, but I can't see any other way." He assumed his most charming attitude. "As you can imagine, our relations with Russia are not that great right now. I'm trying to rebuild our bridges, but it isn't going that well. In fact, I've been trying to schedule a trip to meet with the Suvarovs, but they didn't seem that interested until I took the liberty of dropping your name."

Martha suddenly realized where the conversation was going. "Hal…"

"The truth is, Martha, they're dying to see you."

"Why?"

"Russia's intelligence network is still one of the best in the world. We think they've figured out pretty much everything that happened the day of the terrorist attack, including the fact that you tried to stop it by joining the motorcade. That really resonated with them culturally. It's the sort of thing Anna Karenina would have done, or something. Very fatalistic." He waved his hand vaguely. "To be honest, I don't think I'll have any chance of communicating with them without you."

Martha took this in for a moment, mentally reviewing what little international news she'd heard in the past few days. The Suvarovs had refused to attend David Palmer's funeral, she now recalled. She had to admit that the idea of Russia knowing what Charles had done was appalling. She looked back at the President. "Are things that bad, Hal?"

He looked grim. "Yes, they are that bad. It wouldn't be exaggerating to say we've lost all the ground we've made in cooperation since the Cold War. Charles was willing to hand their president over to terrorists to pay for his mistakes, and they know it. At this point they have no use for us whatever, and I don't blame them."

_Aaron isn't going to like this_, Martha thought, but she saw no alternative other than to agree. "If you think there's something I can do to help, I'm willing to try."

"That would be wonderful. I don't have a definite date scheduled yet for the trip, but I'll let you know as soon as we do." He paused, then added, "I'll explain to Beth that it's very important that you come with us. She'll understand."

_No she won't._ Martha knew what Hal was trying to tell her, however. She said what she was expected to say: "I'll be happy to work with her. I think Mrs. Suvarov will like her very much." She sensed that their meeting had come to an end, but suddenly she leaned forward. "May I say just one thing, Hal? About being President?"

He looked surprised, but said, "Yes, of course, Martha."

"Just be yourself. Just do the best you can. It doesn't sound like much, but David Palmer was a good friend of mine and I can tell you that when he was elected, he didn't have a list of directions telling him how to be a great President. You know the crises he had to face during his time in office. He dealt with them because he had enough faith in himself to do the best job he could and to trust his judgment, and that's exactly what Charles was afraid to do. We don't have to go into this in detail, but we both know he never trusted himself. That's why he did what he did. It seemed like such an easy answer to all his problems." Martha grabbed her napkin to wipe away the tears that had started to form. "If only he'd listened to me. I wanted to help…" she stopped.

Hal Gardner was looking at her with more respect than she'd ever seen from him. She thought how odd it was that their old antagonistic relationship seemed to have dissolved in the last few days. "Martha, thank you. I mean it. Things are bad right now, I don't deny it, but if it weren't for you they'd be ten times worse." He stood and took her hand. "Thanks for your advice. I promise you I'll remember it. I feel like I never really knew you before this week," he added as they moved toward the door. "Charles made the biggest mistake of his life when he stopped listening to you."

The next morning Martha and Angie headed for the apartment and started directing the movers. The furniture had been delivered the day before; after getting it placed, they attacked the boxes that had been stacked on every available surface. At Angie's suggestion, they started with the bathroom and kitchen items: "It'll make things easier for you tonight if we get this unpacked first."

"I'm so glad you're here, Angie. I really appreciate your help with this." For the hundredth time Martha mentally thanked Aaron for recommending his old friend.

"I've had some practice. Military personnel actually get handouts on how to move, we do it a lot."

"Well, hopefully you'll never have to do this again, now that you've retired."

"That's exactly why I did. After General Mason retired, I knew there was a high probability I'd be transferred again and I didn't want that. We'd just bought a house the year before."

"We?"

Angie hesitated. "My partner and I. Her name's Marie. We've been together fourteen years. Aaron didn't tell you?"

"No, he didn't, but he probably wanted to give you a chance to tell me yourself." Martha opened another box. "What does Marie do?"

"She works at the Smithsonian. She's an archivist."

"I think I understand now why you left that small town you were telling me about."

"That's right. It wasn't all bad, I have good memories too, but it definitely isn't the best place to figure out that you're gay." Angie had relaxed a bit, but then frowned and muttered, "What's this?" She walked quickly across the room to stare at a box Martha had uncovered. "Mrs. Logan, where did you find this box?"

"It was with all the other ones on the table. Why?"

"Don't touch it. Give me a minute, I need to check something." Angie walked quickly through the apartment, counting under her breath. "There were forty-seven boxes in your shipment. There's forty-eight here now. That's an extra box." She went back to stare at it. "It's differently sized from the others. It's got your name and address on it but there's no postage. Did you open it?"

"No, I didn't touch it, all I did was move the box next to it." Martha's puzzlement was turning to concern. "What should we do?"

"I'm calling Aaron."

"What about the police?"

"I'll call them next, but if I don't call Aaron first, he's going to be really upset with both of us." They traded glances, and Martha nodded.

"It's Angie. We have a problem here, Aaron…" the conversation was terse and took only about two minutes. Angie hung up and turned to Martha. "He wants us to get out of the apartment now. He's calling the bomb squad."

Martha knew better than to protest. On their way downstairs Angie called the apartment manager, who instituted evacuation procedures throughout the building. As they reached the sidewalk, the first of several police cars was pulling up to the curb; in a matter of moments the street was iridescent with flashing red lights. Angie and Martha quickly described the box, its location and dimensions, and a team of officers disappeared into the building.

"If this turns out to be nothing, I'm going to be really embarrassed," Martha muttered, shaking her head.

"Better embarrassed than blown up. And there's no explanation for how it got here. As soon as they let us back into the building I'm going to talk to the supervisor."

Within half an hour the box had been removed for examination and the tenants were allowed to return inside. Angie headed straight for the supervisor's office: "I'm Colonel Angie Johnston and I work with Mrs. Logan. I need to ask you some questions about that box. Did anyone deliver it to your mailroom? Did anyone have access to the apartment other than the delivery personnel?" From the supervisor she moved on to question the mailroom and janitorial staff, but to no avail. No one admitted to having seen the box.

"I was here yesterday when the furniture was delivered, Mrs. Logan, and I know it wasn't here then." Angie looked thoughtful. "I'm going to call the movers, maybe they'll remember it." Martha continued to unpack while Angie conducted a lively discussion with the moving company and the driver of the van. Fifteen minutes later she shrugged and returned to helping Martha unpack. "One guy thinks he may have seen it but he isn't sure. Either nobody knows how it got here or they aren't saying."

They had just finished a quick lunch break when a police officer returned with the box under his arm. "Here you are, Mrs. Logan. We checked everything out and it's not dangerous at all, it just contained a gift and a note." Under his quizzical look, Martha felt embarrassed. Angie intervened. "I checked with the movers and the entire staff of this building and nobody knows how that box got here. It didn't come through the mailroom and it wasn't here yesterday."

The officer pursed his lips and shrugged. "Well, it doesn't look dangerous and there was nothing threatening about the note. Maybe you'll recognize who sent it when you look at it."

Martha deflected further debate by opening the box. Inside was a crystal bowl with a folded note enclosed. "We checked for prints," the officer added, "but didn't find any." The note read:

_Congratulations on your move. With hopes for a long and happy future._

"Laser printer," commented Angie, reading over Martha's shoulder. "That's no help."

"So you don't know who it's from?"

"No idea. Thank you for taking the time to bring it back," Martha added with her best smile, "and thanks for your help today."

As the door closed, Martha and Angie looked at each other:

"What do you think this means? It's just a knick-knack."

"I don't know. It's harmless in itself, but I think maybe the intent was to send you a message."

"A message…"

"'We know where you live.'"

Martha shivered. "Well, let's assume you're right. How could they have found out?"

"The realtor, the landlord… but I'd say that was unlikely. You picked this place for privacy and security, and that's what their reputation's built on. It wouldn't serve them to spill the news of your whereabouts to anyone. Bad for business."

"Oh, my God. Wait a minute." As Angie looked at her questioningly: "It's Charles' lawyers. When I talked to Counselor Tenney, I warned him if anything happened to Charles I'd start asking questions. That has to be it."

"What did he say? Did he make any threats?"

"No, actually he didn't. He knew what I was talking about, all right, but he said Charles was in no danger from him. He seemed frustrated; he told me that Charles was so suspicious that it had made working with him very difficult. The truth is, I liked him better than I thought I would."

Angie shrugged. "Maybe he's meaner than he lets on. From what I understand, he's known for defending hard cases. Do you want to call Ms. Margate and let her know about this? She might be able to help."

Martha agreed. While she was leaving a message with Susan's receptionist, the desk downstairs buzzed; Angie answered it and whispered, "Agent Pierce is on his way up." Martha asked the secretary to have Susan call her as soon as possible and headed for the foyer.

Aaron stepped inside and lost no time in giving Martha a warm embrace. "Are you all right?" He stepped back and looked at her, concerned.

"I'm fine, but I'm really glad you're here." She hugged him again.

"Your Secret Service coverage starts tonight. Get used to it."

"Yes, sir, Agent Pierce." She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll do whatever they say, especially if they're Mitchell and Williams."

"I picked the tougher guys to start with," he replied, grinning. "They'll need all the resistance they've got." He reciprocated her kiss. "Show me around?"

Aaron was impressed with the appearance of the apartment. "It looks a lot better with the furniture in," he admitted. He then gave the box and its contents careful inspection, leaned back and looked across the kitchen table at Angie and Martha. "Tell me what happened." He listened without interrupting as they recounted the day's events and the results of Angie's questioning of the movers and staff, then reread the note. "I think this probably is a warning. Subtle, but it's there if you're looking for it." He frowned. "Any ideas on how it got here?"

The two women looked at each other. "Well… yes," Martha answered, feeling slightly panicky. Trying not to focus on Aaron's steadily darkening expression, she explained her conversation with Tenney the day of her visit with Charles, finishing with her phone call to Susan Margate. "I see," was his only comment.

An uneasy silence fell over the three of them. Finally Martha sighed. "You're upset with me, aren't you?"

"Of course not," he lied, prompted by a glare from Angie. "I'm concerned. Your safety is top priority, and drawing attention to yourself – in any way – is probably not a good idea right now. I understand why you said what you did, but please, Martha, don't do it again." His diplomacy was rewarded by looks of pure relief from Martha and approval from Angie. "Will you let me know when you hear back from your attorney?"

"Of course. Are you leaving?"

"Got to get back to the White House. This was just a quick run over to check on you. Keep unpacking, and I'll stay in touch." He put his arm around her and gave her a quick hug. "I'm taking Angie down with me to talk to the supervisor."

Standing by the elevator, Aaron stared at Angie for a minute, then shook his head. "What the hell was she thinking?"

"She wanted to make sure he didn't get knocked off by his pals. Obviously. Apparently Logan thinks everyone is out to get him. Whether that's true or not I don't know, but what he said was enough to concern her."

"I don't know why she bothers."

"You're going to have to get past this, Aaron. I know it won't be easy, but if the two of you are going to be together, you have to accept that she still feels some responsibility for him. I'm sure she's not in love with him; she's getting the divorce, she's moving on." As they stepped into the elevator, she added, "Look at it this way. What's easier for Logan, a quick death or doing prison time?"

"You have a point. Actually, I said something of the sort to her the other day when we found out he wasn't going to trial. She was the one who was upset then, more than me."

"Well, there you go." They'd arrived at the lobby; he gestured her off to one side, away from the doorman. "You didn't really want to talk to the supervisor, did you."

"I wanted a chance to talk to you away from her." He hesitated. "What you said just now…" she looked at him questioningly. "Do you really think I'd have a chance of making this work with her?"

"I don't see why not, if the two of you care about each other. And I'm sure that you do. I'd have to be blind not to see that."

"I'm way out of her league, Angie."

"She doesn't seem to feel that way."

"There's going to be Service agents with her all the time. Any time I spend with her is going to get noticed."

Angie shrugged. "That's not a crime. As long as you're not in charge of her detail, I don't see any professional conflict. You're allowed to have a personal life, and so is she." She gave him a direct look. "A lot of this you need to be discussing with her, not me. But I'll tell you this. Admitting I was gay was the hardest thing I ever did. Breaking up with your brother and joining the Army was really scary, but it was the right thing to do. This is your life, Aaron. You need to get it the way you want it, because you'll never have another chance. You're lucky to even _be_ alive. The next time you start worrying about what people are going to think, remember that. What other people think doesn't matter."

He nodded. "Thanks, Angie. I don't want to screw this up, I really don't."

She smiled slightly. "Well, then, my last piece of advice to you is to take that ring off and put some thought into this. You've got time, divorces don't happen overnight. You both need to figure out what you want." She started to head for the elevator, but stopped. "Oh, by the way, I told her about Marie today."

"Any problems?"

"It didn't throw her at all. You know, I think Marie would really like her. Maybe one of these days I'll get the chance to introduce her."

"She'd like that, and I know she'd like Marie. Thanks again, Angie. The agents should be showing up in about an hour." Angie waved understanding and hurried for the elevator.

Martha continued to sit at the kitchen table, thinking. Finally, with a look of determination, she picked up the bowl and placed it carefully in the center of the mantel. When Angie returned, she took her to the living room and pointed to it. "I want to put this where it'll be the first thing people see. What do you think?"

"It's a focal point, all right. But why?"

"They want to send me a message, I'll send them one right back. _I'm not afraid of you._"

Angie looked at her and smiled. "I like it, Mrs. Logan."


	7. Chapter 7

Joshua Tenney exited the courtroom staring absently at a brief in his hand. He was mulling the finer points of an appeal he'd drafted for one of his clients and thinking with resignation of the next few hours he'd have to spend in his office polishing it for submission to the Maryland courts. He was, therefore, completely unprepared for what awaited him in the hallway:

"Counselor. _Counselor!_" He looked up with a start to find himself facing a furious Susan Margate. Her being a full foot shorter than he was did not, at that moment, make her any less intimidating.

"Ms. Margate? How are you?" he asked tentatively, and was rewarded with a furious glare.

"We're going to talk right now, you son of a bitch."

"What? What are you—"

"Come here." She half-dragged him over to the side of the hallway and stood in front of him, blocking any attempt he might have made to escape. "How dare you try to intimidate any client of mine?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you telling me you don't know about the bomb scare Martha Logan got yesterday?"

"_Bomb scare?_"

"Yes. Her first day out of the White House, an anonymous package showed up in her apartment, planted right in the middle of all her moving boxes. It didn't come through the mail, no one admits to delivering it. No one knows how it got there. The Secret Service called the bomb squad to investigate; fortunately, it wasn't anything serious."

"Well, if it wasn't anything serious, why confront me like this? For that matter, why are you assuming I've got anything to do with it?" His confusion was changing to anger.

"There was a warning enclosed. The first thing we thought of was your clients and I don't mean Charles Logan. I mean the people who hired you on his behalf."

"I don't discuss my clients with anyone, Ms. Margate, and I don't understand why anyone would want to threaten Martha Logan."

"The day she saw her husband she asked for a private conversation with you. She told me what she said to you. As far as I'm concerned that's reason enough to assume you're responsible. You passed that information on, didn't you?"

"I did no such thing."

"Bullshit."

"That's enough." Tenney was getting angrier by the minute. "If you don't believe me, you don't, but I don't have to stand here and listen to this. File a complaint if you want to, and I'll fight the charge, but if you accost me like this again you'll find yourself before a judge and you're not going to like it." He stepped around her and headed on down the hall without looking back.

Halfway down the hall Susan Margate caught up to him again; he had a sudden mental picture of a small Pomeranian nipping at his heels. This time she was more conciliatory: "If it wasn't you, who else could it have been? There wasn't anybody else. Did you tell anyone?"

"Of course not."

She persisted. "No one at all?"

"I said n—" he stopped dead in the middle of the hallway.

"Who?"

"The only person I told," he said reluctantly, "was Charles Logan."

After successfully avoiding publicity and her personal paperwork for nearly two weeks, Martha had been harangued by Angie into sitting down and going through her schedule and her bills. She'd optimistically assumed that after the terrorist attacks and Charles' arrest she would be _persona non grata_ and no organization in its senses would want to work with her; unfortunately, she was more in demand than ever now that her part in bringing down the conspiracy had become known. Hal Gardner's well-meant public praise of her efforts was coming back to haunt her, and she had few kind thoughts for him this morning.

"Mrs. Logan, I need to get in touch with your accountant and your financial advisor. You'll need more money in your account before next month's bills."

"Maybe I should accept some of these speaking engagements. God knows I could use the money." Martha scowled at the little pile of checks and envelopes in front of her. "I'm never going shopping again."

"Well, why don't you? I'm sure you could do it."

"Some of my public appearances in the past weren't all that successful." Martha tried unsuccessfully to shove away the memory of a particularly embarrassing occasion. She'd taken her medication shortly before arriving at the venue where she was supposed to speak and then taken two glasses of wine in a row to calm her nerves. The result had been a rambling mess; fortunately she'd been stopped before she'd become incoherent. Walt Cummings had watched her like a hawk after that. She looked up, met Angie's eyes, and suddenly realized that Angie probably knew exactly what she was referring to. There was no point in keeping up a defense about her past behavior, and suddenly Martha felt incredibly relieved. Angie wasn't going to judge her any more than Aaron would. She smiled and shrugged. "Face it, no one would want me to speak to their group unless they were looking for tabloid entertainment."

"You're wrong there." Angie waved a paperclipped batch of letters. "There are half a dozen organizations here who are willing to pay thousands of dollars to hear you speak. I know you can do this. Things are different now. _You're_ different now. After everything you've been through, is it really such a challenge to stand up and give a speech to a group of people who are dying to hear what you have to say?"

"Well. No." Martha smiled suddenly. "Angie, did you ever speak to General Mason like this?"

"Once in a while, when he was feeling sorry for himself." Angie grinned back. "Hope you didn't mind, Mrs. Logan."

"I don't mind. You're absolutely right. And I wish you'd call me Martha. I'd feel more comfortable with it, and I'm getting to the point where I never want to hear the name Logan again."

"Okay, if you'd like. But in public, you're still 'Mrs. Logan.' That's how the press and the public are going to keep referring to you for the foreseeable future, anyway."

"It's a deal." Martha picked up the invitations lying on the table and leafed through them again. "I don't see why I shouldn't do this, except… but we don't know when that is yet."

"Sorry?"

Martha looked at Angie. "President Gardner asked me to go to Russia with him and his wife as a sort of goodwill ambassador. I told him I'd do it, but he hasn't scheduled the trip yet."

"We'll work around it. If these groups have to reschedule they will. And if they can't, they can't, but once news of your trip hits the press you're going to get a lot more invitations like this. A _lot_ more."

"Do you want to go with me, Angie? I could really use your help."

"I will, Martha, I'd be happy to. But I'll be sure and pack my Tabasco. I went to Russia once when I was working at the Pentagon, and the food was terrible. Ugh." Angie shuddered at the memory. "Cold canned peas at every meal, and I'm not kidding."

Martha laughed. "We'll hope they lay on something better for the President's entourage." She was suddenly reminded of Aaron as she said it, and looked worried. "I know Aaron's not going to be happy about this trip. I'm not looking forward to telling him."

"I know he won't like it, but it's your decision to make and it's his job to work around it. I told him that the day he checked out the apartment with us—" Angie stopped speaking abruptly.

"He's talked to you? I wouldn't be surprised if he had. You've known him a lot longer than I have. In some ways I feel like I've known him forever, but it's really been less than three weeks." Martha looked cautiously at Angie, who nodded. "It's all happening so fast. I know I can trust him, but that's all I know."

"We did talk yesterday. I know how he feels about you."

"Well, that's more than I do," Martha retorted.

Angie decided to take the plunge: "The truth is, he's crazy about you and he's scared out of his wits. If you'll allow me to say this, you've been really good for him. As far as I know, the only thing he's done since the divorce is work. He hasn't been close to anyone that I know of except me and his son in years, and now he's in over his head, and he's got no idea what to do."

Martha looked thoughtful for a moment. "I probably shouldn't be asking you this, but Aaron's divorce… it was hard on him, wasn't it?"

"It was. You should probably ask him for the details, but they'd been having trouble for a long time. It was never a good marriage after the first few years. His wife finally left him for someone else. He really beat himself up about it, more than he should have."

"Did you know her?"

"Yes, I knew her." Angie's tone was neutral, and Martha asked no further questions. Instead they turned to the details of maintenance for the ranch property, which Martha was hoping to sell. Their discussion was interrupted by Martha's phone.

"Yes, Susan… you did? What did he have to say?… _What?_" Martha paled. "I can't believe it. What do you think we should do?" A pause. "I think I need to be there. Excuse me just a minute," she added in an aside to Angie, and went into the bedroom.

Ten minutes later she returned. Angie took one look at her, and stood quickly. "Is everything all right? Martha?"

"I'm going back to Dunlap and Tenney, Angie. I need that box and the note." Martha moved to the mantel as she spoke and picked up the bowl. "It turns out the only person Charles' attorney spoke to was Charles."

Two hours later, Martha was waiting at Tenney's conference table with the box and its contents before her. Next to her sat Susan Margate, fiddling with her cell phone. "Josh said he'd be back soon," she commented. "He's expecting your husband any minute."

Martha raised an eyebrow. "Josh?"

Susan grinned. "We've had quite the conversation today. I'm starting to think he's the 'good guy' of this law firm. His partner is the one who talked him into representing Mr. Logan, in fact he pretty much insisted on it. I wouldn't be surprised if somebody had something on Mr. Dunlap, from the way Josh described it."

As Martha mulled this over, the door opened and Charles was escorted in. Joshua Tenney followed him, looking grim. "Counselor. Mrs. Logan," he said, nodding to them both. No sooner had they sat down than Martha launched her attack.

"All right, Charles. It's time to come clean with me." She pushed the box and note toward him. "I want you to look at this. We had to evacuate my apartment building yesterday, no thanks to you. I found this on my kitchen table. There's no postage on it and nobody in the building admitted to knowing how it got there. I want to know who you told that I was going to keep an eye on you."

"I think I can answer that, Mrs. Logan." Joshua Tenney spoke up as Charles' expression turned sullen. "I checked the visitors log. My partner and one of our associates have been by to see him several times."

"It's not a crime to have my attorneys visit me," Charles retorted. "And our conversations are confidential. You know that."

"They're checking up on you, are they, Charles? Did you tell them everything we said to each other?" He winced at her scathing tone.

"Marty. When I asked you to come see me, I didn't realize it was going to raise questions. I should have known better. When Josh told me what you'd said—that you'd step in if anything happened to me—it was the best news I'd had in days. Didn't you expect _him_ to pass it along? If you didn't mean it as a warning, why did you say it?"

Martha opened her mouth, then closed it again. "You're right," she admitted._ No wonder Aaron was upset._ "I did expect Mr. Tenney to do that, but it's a little disconcerting to be sold out by your own husband."

"I didn't do it to hurt you."

"I believe you, Charles. But I've learned a lesson from this. I'm not telling you anything else, not ever again. It just isn't safe." She stood up with an air of finality. "If you need anything, let me know. I'll see that you get it, but I don't plan to come back here."

He looked at her for a long moment; Martha realized there were tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry. Sorry, Marty." He turned and left without another word.

Martha slumped back down in her chair and closed her eyes, realizing that she'd just ended her marriage. After a moment, she looked over at Susan and Josh. "Twenty-five years…" she whispered, shaking her head. "Twenty-five years, and this is how it ends." She found a box of tissues being pushed in front of her and became aware that she was crying. Dabbing at her eyes, she sat for a few minutes and tried to pull herself together as the two attorneys conferred in low voices at the other end of the conference table. She desperately wanted to see Aaron, to tell him he'd been right and have him reassure her. _If Angie's right,_ she thought. _If he _is_ in love with me—my God, I want that divorce._

"Mr. Tenney," she asked, "has Charles agreed to the divorce? I really do want to go ahead with this as soon as possible. Have you found someone to represent him?"

"That's what we were just discussing." Josh turned to her. "There's one attorney I work with frequently that I've been trying to reach." He nodded to Susan. "We both know him. His name's James Warren. He's been out of town for the last few days, but he'll be back tonight. Susan, you're going to call him?"

"I will. Don't worry, Martha, we're getting this show on the road." She smiled at Tenney. "Thanks. You really were helpful today. I'm surprised you didn't kill me after this morning."

Tenney started to laugh: "I was too scared of you to consider it."

Aaron braced himself and hit the elevator button. He hadn't bought flowers for anyone in longer than he cared to remember, and he knew that for anyone who knew him the combination of casual clothing and flowers would be like carrying a neon sign. Nevertheless, he'd felt obligated to bring a housewarming gift and flowers seemed the obvious choice. He'd been tempted to buy roses, but had recalled gerbera daisies were a frequent presence in Martha's White House suite; their bright pinks and oranges were now the colors he associated with her. Arriving on her floor, he avoided eye contact with the agent waiting in the hallway, hoping not to see any look of recognition or surprise. He gritted his teeth and reminded himself of Angie's advice.

She opened the door and her face lit up. "Oh, Aaron, how beautiful. Thank you." She pulled him inside, looking surprised. "Thanks for coming, I know it was short notice. I didn't expect flowers."

"I wanted to bring you something," he responded, smiling. "I'm glad you called. I really wanted to see you." He kissed her and handed her the flowers. "I thought these were your favorites. I hope I was right."

"You were," she admitted, deeply touched that he'd remembered. "These are going in water right now." She led the way into the kitchen, and he followed her.

"Something smells good. I was going to ask if you wanted to go out for dinner, but I guess I'm a little late."

"I really didn't feel like going out, so I'm breaking in the kitchen. I thought I'd try chili—does that sound okay?"

"It sounds wonderful." He looked around. "You've done a great job. The first time I saw this place I wasn't impressed, but I am now. You must have a knack for decorating."

"I can't take the credit, my friend Jane handled most of that. She went through all my things and told me where to put everything. She picked out quite a bit of the furniture, too."

Aaron shook his head in admiration. "You should send her over to do my place. It could use a bit of a touch-up."

"How long have you lived there?"

"Four years, so I have no excuse. I've unpacked, but that's about it." Aaron's apartment was clean, serviceable, and cheerless; he'd had no incentive to make it otherwise. "I'm working most of the time and I'm not there much."

"Well, Jane and I will hire ourselves out and fix up your place next," Martha promised, smiling. "Want some iced tea? Or something else?"

He chose the tea, and they sat at the table drinking it. Martha had left the box on the table after her return from Dunlap and Tenney. As she moved it aside to make more room for them, it caught his eye and he looked at her questioningly. "You said you had something you wanted to tell me?"

"I—yes." Martha braced herself. "I went back to Dunlap and Tenney today. My attorney and I met with Charles and Joshua Tenney about the bomb scare. I wanted to tell you what happened."

Aaron tensed; he wasn't sure whether this was good news or bad. "Go ahead and tell me."

"What happened is, you were right. About everything." He looked at her questioningly, and she continued: "The only person Charles' attorney spoke to about our conversation was Charles. He's the one who leaked the information." Aaron's only response was a nod. "You figured it out, didn't you?"

"It was the most likely explanation I could think of." Aaron kept his voice neutral.

"Every time I think he's gone as low as he can go, he surprises me and goes lower still." Martha shook her head. "I'm not going to see him again. I told his attorney today that I want the divorce to go through as fast as possible; I'm not having any second thoughts about this. The sooner he's out of my life, the happier I'll be."

"Good." The bluntness of his response surprised a laugh out of her, and the tension in the room drained away. Martha got up to check on the progress of their dinner. "We could go sit in the living room," she offered, but he shook his head. "I like it here. I like kitchens, they feel like home to me."

"It's the saving grace of this apartment. It's the only place I looked at that didn't have a tiny kitchen. It's turning into my office, too; Angie and I were here this morning going through paperwork." She sat next to him and took his hand, and he linked his fingers with hers. "That reminds me," she added, "I have some other news for you."

"I have some for you too. I've been meaning to tell you, but I keep forgetting."

"You go first."

"The day I came to check your apartment, I had a meeting with President Gardner. That's why I ran late."

"I remember, Angie told me."

"Well, the short version is I've been promoted. President Gardner still wants me on his detail for special occasions, but I'm going to spend more time recruiting agents and doing administrative work. He spoke directly to the Service chiefs about it." Aaron smiled and shook his head. "He was kind enough to say some really nice things."

"Aaron, that's wonderful!" Martha hugged him. "I can't think of anyone who deserves it more than you do." Her face fell: "That means you won't be going to Russia, then. Or will you?"

"I'm going, all right—" he paused. "How did you know about Russia?"

"That's my news. My last night in the White House, President Gardner told me about the trip. He wants me to go." Looking at him worriedly, she continued: "Apparently I'm the only one the Suvarovs will talk to. He really needs my help, Aaron."

"They'll talk to you, but not him?"

"They know what happened in the motorcade attack. They know what Charles did, and they know why I got in the car." She took his hand in both of hers. "I know you aren't going to like it, but I think I need to go."

He looked at her seriously for a moment. "A few days ago, you would have been right. But considering what's happened," he added, glancing at the box, "it may not be such a bad idea for you to be out of the country for a bit. I could keep my eye on you that way," he added with a smile.

Martha smiled back. "Will you kiss me in the Kremlin?"

"If you want me to."

"Will you kiss me right now?"

He pulled her onto his lap.


	8. Chapter 8

Joshua Tenney and Susan Margate were sitting over coffee during a midmorning break between court sessions. They had discovered a café near both Josh's office and the courthouse where Susan heard most of her cases, and had been there several times.

"How are things going with James Warren?" Josh asked. They had been discussing Susan's current case.

"It's good. We haven't had any problems. The Logans being who they are, it hasn't been difficult to get court time. Except for some community property issues we need to get straightened out, it's all over but the shouting. The divorce should be final in the next six weeks or so." She eyed him. "How are _you_ doing? How's Charles Logan's case coming?"

He shrugged. "Okay. Charles is somewhat difficult, but I've dealt with worse clients. My real problem right now is Gene Dunlap. It's gotten to the point that I'm afraid to discuss anything with him. I just don't think I can trust him, and it's making it impossible for us to work together."

Susan leaned forward. "Let me clarify this for you: you definitely can't trust him. He's been up to God knows what and he's passing confidential information from Logan to his co-conspirators, whoever they are. You'll never be able to prove it, since Logan won't talk, but we both know that's what's happening. Frankly, I'm surprised you're still working with him."

"Susan, we're partners. It's not as simple as throwing up your hands and walking out the door, you know that. I've put too much into this firm to throw it all away."

She sighed. "Yes, I know. Have you confronted him about it?"

"In an oblique way."

She rolled her eyes. "That means no."

He grinned. "Have you always had this habit of saying what you think?"

"From a child."

"However did you get through law school?"

She laughed, but persisted. "What exactly did you say?"

"I asked him why he'd been visiting Charles Logan so frequently. He stared at me for a second and then said something about wanting to know how the case was going. So I asked him why he hadn't come to me if he was interested. He just shrugged."

"Anything else?"

"I mentioned the bomb threat to Mrs. Logan and asked him if he'd heard anything about it. He said no, he hadn't, but he didn't look surprised either."

Susan watched Josh across the table. He was stirring his coffee with unnecessary vigor. "You look upset."

"I am upset." Tenney dropped his normally mild manner. "This is really bothering me. I enjoy my job. I like defending people; I've always wanted to do criminal defense. The famous clients are fun and the money doesn't hurt either, but that's not why I do it. You understand that, don't you?"

She nodded. "Yes, I do. You're a decent guy, Josh. You believe in what you do. The trouble is your partner isn't and he doesn't. I'm not trying to tell you what to do here, but I do believe that because the two of you are who you are, you're eventually going to split up. I'm just worried that if it doesn't happen soon you're going to wind up getting dragged into whatever questionable activity it is that Dunlap is involved in."

"You're probably right. I'm going to stay on until the Logan case is completed, but I've got to start thinking about my options. At least I don't have a family to worry about on top of everything else."

"You're divorced, too? All the best people are," she added dryly.

Tenney laughed. "No, never married. I was seeing somebody for a while, but we broke up right around the time I graduated from law school. Then I got caught up in my work, climbing the ladder to partner, the usual…" he grimaced. "The next thing I knew, it was twenty years later." He shook his head, looking surprised, then sat back and looked at Susan. "What about you? What's your story?"

Susan shrugged. "My story is a short one. I married a jerk."

Tenney was watching her closely, and chose his words carefully: "You look too smart to do a thing like that."

"We all make mistakes. It took me a while to realize that I'd made one." Susan's normally cheerful expression changed for a moment. "Suffice to say I figured it out, got divorced and lived happily ever after." She looked down and took a sip of coffee, now speaking more slowly as she looked back at the past. "It took me a long time to build up my practice after that, but it was all I had. It paid off, though. I've got something that I accomplished by myself, and no one can take it away from me."

"It's about self-esteem, isn't it," Tenney said quietly. "We get so caught up in our jobs." She nodded absently. "And are you happy?"

She blinked. "Well, yes! Of course!" He said nothing. "Reasonably happy. I mean, I don't think anyone is perfectly happy…" Another pause. Suddenly she focused on him. "Those are some wicked forensic skills you've got there, Counselor. I'm starting to see how you got to the top of the tree in criminal defense." She grinned. "Let's talk about something else. Are you going to the ABA's fundraiser dinner this weekend?"

"I have a ticket for it. I may not actually go, it gets tiring to go to these things alone after a while."

"You're not going alone, you're going with me. I've got a ticket too."

Josh looked surprised for a second, then started to laugh. "That sounds much more interesting. All right, we'll go together."

After further consideration, Martha had decided to accept a few of the speaking offers she'd received. She hadn't written one of her own speeches for some time, as her husband and Walt Cummings between them had delegated this job to one of the lesser White House speechwriters; as a result, she was finding the writing process more difficult than she'd anticipated. She was still wrestling with the first draft of her speech when the doorman buzzed to announce Mike Novick's arrival. With a sense of relief Martha abandoned her computer and hurried to the door to admit him.

"Well, Martha," he gave her a brief hug, "it's good to see you. I hope you didn't mind my inviting myself, but I haven't seen you since the funeral and I wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm glad you're here, Mike. I've got a lot to tell you. I've been meaning to call you but what with getting unpacked and reorganized, things have been crazy around here."

"I heard you had some trouble during your move? Anything serious?" Mike was eyeing the living room approvingly.

"Just Charles up to his old tricks again. It's been taken care of. By the way, thank you for recommending Susan Margate. She's handling the divorce for me, and she's been wonderful."

He nodded. "Glad to hear that's going forward. Are you keeping busy?"

"Very busy. You wouldn't believe how busy. I've got some really big news, Mike. Hal Gardner is going to Russia in two weeks, and he wants me to go with him!"

"How so? Isn't Beth going?"

"Yes, she is, but he's trying to smooth things over with the Russians and they wouldn't have anything to do with him till he offered to bring me along. Their intelligence network figured out that Charles leaked the information about the motorcade to the terrorists, and they also know that I got into the car to try to stop the attack." She saw Mike wince at the memory. "Apparently I'm the only one they'll talk to right now. I'm not really sure what I can do, but I told him I would go."

"Good for you. I'll have to give Hal Gardner credit for asking you, I didn't think he had that much sense." Mike grinned suddenly. "How do you think Beth is going to take this?"

"As badly as possible," Martha retorted. They both started to laugh. "Oh Mike, it is good to see you. I haven't had the chance to talk to somebody like this in a long time. What are you doing these days?"

Novick reported that the Senator he'd spoken to at the Palmer funeral had come through with help in finding him a job. He was working with a private organization advising various government committees on economic issues: "It's a rest from the White House, and I'm enjoying it." They talked on about various mutual acquaintances, and Martha told him about her upcoming speech. Mike raised an eyebrow at her news. "I thought you didn't like that sort of thing."

"It's different when they're paying you. Besides, this time I get to talk about what I want to talk about instead of reciting some canned monologue Charles got someone to write for me. I've only accepted a few invitations to start with. If it doesn't work out, I'll stop and find something else to do."

Mike smiled. "This all sounds… well, wonderful, Martha. I don't think I've ever seen you like this. I know you've been through a tough time, but you've handled it better than I could have hoped for. The way things are now, you could do just about anything you want. Who knows, if this trip goes well and you play your cards right, Gardner might even appoint you the next ambassador to Russia."

Martha groaned. "Mike. I do not want to be the ambassador to Russia. The only ambition I have right now is to be happy, to live my life the way I want. Right now I'm still trying to put the pieces back together. It's barely been a month since it all happened."

"I know. I know, but in a few months you might feel differently. That reminds me," he started to pick his words carefully, "once the divorce goes through… there are a lot of eligible men in Washington, Martha. I'd be happy to introduce you to some of them."

Martha froze. "Mike, I appreciate it, but you don't really have to—"

"Think about it. You talked about putting your life back together. Wouldn't this be part of it?"

"Well, yes. Absolutely. But the truth is—"

Novick leaned forward to emphasize his point. "You deserve to be happy, Martha. You deserve a second chance."

Martha spoke quickly, before she could change her mind: "The truth is, Mike, I'm already seeing someone." She paused, partly to gauge his response, partly to get her courage up. "And I think I need to tell you who it is. It's Aaron Pierce."

"Aaron," Mike repeated. She couldn't tell his reaction.

"You don't seem that surprised."

"In a way I'm not. I could tell you two were close." Martha could tell from the struggle on Novick's face that he was trying to be diplomatic. "Martha, I have a lot of respect for Aaron. But are you really sure he's the right person for you? You were thrown together a lot that day, under very unusual circumstances, and sometimes that sort of situation generates sparks that… that won't necessarily last."

"You're not saying anything I haven't already asked myself, Mike. Believe me, I second-guessed myself a lot about this. And it didn't start right away. Nothing really started happening between us until I moved out of the White House. All I can really tell you is, it feels right. I feel incredibly comfortable with him. I know I can trust him, and I know he cares about me. After Charles…" she let her sentence trail off, "I can't tell you how much it's meant to me to have Aaron in my life."

Novick nodded. "He's a good man. But I meant what I said, Martha. The sky is the limit for you now. With the right connections, the right husband, you could go a long way."

"I couldn't go farther than I have already. It's hard to beat being the First Lady. But I was miserable, Mike. I didn't know how miserable I was until all this happened, until I left the White House and stopped living with Charles. I'm not bitter at Beth Gardner, not really. We'll never get along, but I'm so grateful that she stepped in and took over that burden." She looked directly at him. "I'm not drinking any more, I don't need to, and I'm not taking my pills every five minutes either. I'm never going back to that life again. It turns out when you nearly get killed, you figure out your priorities in a hurry. I know what I really want out of life more than I ever did before."

"I'm happy for you, Martha. I am." Martha could tell Mike was sincere, but unconvinced. "I just hope it lasts. You're from very different backgrounds, and call me a pessimist, but I can't help thinking that can cause problems in a relationship."

"Of course it can. I know we both have some adjusting to do. I think if we were younger, it would be more of an issue. I'm sure we'll be able to manage." She hesitated for a moment, then continued: "There's more, something you don't know. I want to tell you but you have to promise not to tell _anyone_." Mike looked both shocked and curious; eventually curiosity won out, as she knew it would, and he nodded at her to continue. "You remember the day after the attack, when Aaron gave his evidence about the death of Agent Adams?"

"Of course."

She braced herself. "Aaron didn't kill Adams. I did. He told you he'd shot Adams to protect me."

For perhaps the first time in his life, Novick was rendered inarticulate. "You… you… _what?_"

"It's true, Mike. Aaron was handcuffed. There was nothing he could do. I distracted Adams when I showed up, and Aaron tried to fight back. Adams dropped the gun and I picked it up. He picked up a crowbar and was getting ready to beat Aaron to death with it when I shot him." She shuddered. "It was horrible. My fingerprints weren't on the gun because I was wearing gloves. I didn't know Aaron was going to take the blame for Adams' death, Mike; I would never have let him do it if I'd known. He came to me before we left for Washington and told me what he'd done, and asked me to confirm his story."

Novick was still stunned. "This is unbelievable. Aaron testified under oath, Martha. He committed perjury for you."

Martha looked at him calmly. "And I did it for him." She noted Mike was polishing his glasses, a sure sign that he was agitated. "Are you going to tell anyone?"

He looked at her. "No. If it isn't self-defense, it's close enough. Aaron's story was almost exactly the same as yours except for the detail that you shot Adams. And if he'd killed Aaron with you as a witness to it, there would have been only one thing for him to do: eliminate you."

"Now do you see why I trust Aaron? Why I feel the way I do? How many people would do that for someone they loved?"

"I don't know." He seemed unable to say anything else. "I just don't know." He shook his head, glanced at his watch and jumped up. "Oh, my God. Martha, I'm sorry, but I'm late for a meeting. I've got to leave." He started to head toward the door, then stopped. "Thank you for telling me." He hugged her. "It means a lot to me that you trusted me enough to talk about this. I wish you and Aaron all the best. Tell him I'm sorry I didn't get to see him." Mike was recovering his usual manner as they reached the entryway: "I'm going to email the Moscow embassy and let them know you're going to be there. I have friends there who can get you anything you need."

Martha thanked him, shut the door and leaned against it in relief, wondering how she was going to explain to Aaron that she'd spilled their biggest secret.

Her chance came that same evening, when Aaron stopped by after work. Uncharacteristically, he was burdened with both a laptop computer and a sour look.

"Bringing work home?" she asked.

"Just something I'm having trouble with. I have to give a recruitment presentation next week, and I'm not much of a public speaker. And this PowerPoint thing… I asked Mitchell to help me with it, and he keeps wanting to add special effects to all my slides, and it's driving me nuts." Aaron looked disgusted.

Martha was interested. "Mind if I take a look?" She handed him a drink; Aaron accepted it gratefully and waved his hand toward the computer. "Help yourself." He sat next to her as she began scanning through the slides. "You're right about the special effects," she told him. "If you use too many they're just distracting. Get the speech organized first and then you can worry about the extra stuff." She reviewed the main points of his presentation, asking questions as she went; Aaron took notes of her suggestions.

"This will be a big help. You've really improved it." She smiled at him, then stiffened as an unpleasant memory shot through her: her words to Charles the day of the terrorist attacks. _"We used to be such a good team."_ She'd worked with him on his press release about the nerve gas crisis, thinking that at last things were going to be all right again between them, only to be completely disillusioned just a few hours later.

"What's wrong?" Aaron was looking at her, concerned.

"Nothing. Just a bad memory." She took his hand and asked tentatively: "You've been divorced longer than I have. Does this still happen to you?"

"Yes. But not as often as it used to." He leaned forward and kissed her.

Martha nerved herself and started her explanation. "Aaron, I need to tell you something. Mike Novick stopped by today to see how I was doing. I told him we were seeing each other."

"It's going to be all over Washington in two days, then," he noted dryly. "Not that it bothers me all that much, but why did you tell him?"

"He was talking about me putting my life back together, and he wanted to set me up with some friends of his. It was the only way I could stop him."

"And what was his reaction?"

"He, well…" she tried to downplay it. "He wasn't upset about it."

"But he wasn't happy about it either."

"He kept saying the most ridiculous things. Like how I needed to make the 'right connections.'"

"Well, maybe he was right." Aaron let go of her hand and looked away for a moment.

"No, he wasn't! Aaron, I hated being First Lady. I had no control over my life. I was trying to be someone I wasn't meant to be. If I'd had a better marriage I could have done a better job, maybe, but I never would have enjoyed it. I'd never want to go back to living like that."

Upset, she got up and moved across the kitchen. "More important, why would I be seeing you if I did? Do you really think I'd dump you so I could be seen with the right people? I'd never do that to you." She moved back toward him and leaned over the table to emphasize her point. "I don't know what happened in your marriage, but Angie told me enough that I know you've been hurt. I know how that feels. I promised myself I'd never do that to you. Do you trust me or not?"

He stood next to her. "I do. Martha, I do. I'm sorry. I just—this is a little difficult for me to get used to. I honestly never thought you'd have any time for someone like me."

"Someone like you? The best man I know? Why would I _not_ have time for you?" She looked at him seriously. "I've never known anyone quite like you. I've never felt like this before, Aaron, truly I haven't. I—" she sighed. "That reminds me, there's something else. I was trying to explain all this to Mike, why I feel about you the way I do, and I told him how you'd taken the blame for Agent Adams' death when it was really me."

He stared at her. "You've got to be kidding."

"I'm not. But he isn't going to tell anyone. He said it meant a lot to him that I trusted him enough to tell him, and he wished us the best of luck. I think that's what finally convinced him."

Aaron relaxed a bit. "You took an awful risk."

"I trust him, Aaron. I know him a lot better than I did a month ago, and I consider him a friend. I'm not worried that he'll talk about us."

He nodded. "The truth is, Martha, if word gets around about us it won't be because of anything you did. It'll probably be because of me."

She was puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"The Service, Martha. The agents watching you here are people I've worked with for years. They all know who I am, and they report on everyone who visits you."

"You mean…" she started to grin. "You mean we're being _chaperoned?_"

"More or less," he confessed, looking more self-conscious than she'd ever seen him.

The grin became a laugh. "Has anyone said anything about it?"

"Not so far. I expected to get some sort of comment about my visits, but nobody's said a word, at least not to my face." He smiled. "I think I overheard Williams defending your honor the other day. He was giving one of the other agents a really hard time, but he shut up as soon as he saw me."

Martha walked over to Aaron and put her arms around him. "Maybe they're happy for you. And maybe they just figure it's none of their business." She kissed his cheek. "So, you knew this was going to be an issue and you keep coming to see me anyway?"

"Mm hmm." He pulled her close, closing his eyes and marveling at her ability to bewitch him.

"Tell me why," she whispered.

"Because I've never been this happy." Suddenly he wanted to tell her exactly how he felt. "Because nothing and no one is going to stop me from being with you. If you want to be with me too, that's all I care about." He searched her face for her reaction.

"I do, Aaron… more than anything." Suddenly, fueled by relief, they were kissing more passionately than they ever had before. Aaron backed Martha against the counter as their kiss deepened for the first time. Wanting to reassure him, she wrapped her arms around him and abandoned herself to his embrace.

Martha had been amazed and delighted when Aaron had first dropped his barrier of polite formality with her. The Aaron Pierce she knew now loved physical contact as much as she did, whether it was hugging, handholding or simply sitting next to each other. For the first time she realized that his craving for affection spoke of a loneliness he'd probably had for years. She let her hands wander down past his waist and pulled him into her.

"Martha…" half laughing, he broke the kiss. "We've got to stop."

She rested her head on his shoulder. "Do we? Wouldn't it be fun to shock your co-workers?"

"With Russia coming up, I just can't." He was serious again. "Once we leave on that trip, it's going to be back to business as usual. You'll be the former First Lady of the United States, and I'll be Agent Pierce. I won't be able to focus otherwise."

"I know." She nodded. "Are you worried about it?"

"I always worry about this sort of thing. It's my job. I've been in contact with CTU to see if they've picked up any chatter about separatist activity in Russia, but so far there's been nothing." With a final kiss, he let go of her and picked up his laptop. "I hate to go, but I need to finish this tonight. It's going to be busy between now and the time we leave."

She followed him to the door. "You'll call me?"

"Absolutely. I'll want to hear how your speech went," he added with a smile. "And I'll come by if I can."

"Goodnight, Aaron." She heaved a sigh, staring at the closed door, then reminded herself of her own unfinished project. Turning on the computer, she stared at the screen for a moment and began typing.


	9. Chapter 9

"Nice job, Aaron."

"Thanks, Jon. It went easier than I thought it would, but I'm still glad it's over." Aaron had just wrapped up his first recruitment presentation and felt it had gone fairly well, but speaking in public was still the most challenging part of his new position with the Service. He waved the other man toward his office. "Have you got a minute? I wanted to talk to you about security arrangements for the Russia trip."

"Sure, Aaron, not a problem." Jon Cardona had been with the Secret Service nearly as long as Aaron Pierce. Chatty and gregarious, he was popular among the Service staff. Though the two men were opposites temperamentally, they respected each other's abilities; Agent Cardona had been Aaron's first choice for the new head of Martha Logan's security detail. Not only was Cardona one of the few agents Aaron instinctively trusted after his recent experience with Adams, he discouraged White House gossip. Jon had cast some curious glances at him since he'd become a frequent visitor to Martha's apartment but, to Aaron's great relief, had never said a word. Most fortunately of all, Jon got on well with the former First Lady. On one or two occasions he'd entertained her with stories of his experiences in the White House, and she enjoyed talking to him. Now the two men sat at Aaron's desk trying to work out the logistics of guarding the Presidential entourage in an unfamiliar city.

"I haven't seen anything in the press yet about Mrs. Logan going on this trip," Cardona commented.

"No, she wanted it that way. The motorcade attack on the Suvarovs wasn't that long ago and I think she's nervous." Actually, Aaron _knew_ Martha was nervous; she'd shared her concerns with him in detail, but explaining this to Jon would have meant admitting to a greater level of intimacy with Martha than he was ready to reveal. "President Gardner is going to make it public eventually, but she asked him to wait until just before they leave."

Cardona nodded. "So, have you got the schedule from the White House yet?" Aaron handed him the itinerary he'd received that morning; the agent flipped through it idly. "We've got the landing, the meet-'n'-greet... a tour of the Kremlin, reception at the American embassy… lots of meetings. Sounds like the usual."

"They're staying in the Kremlin with the Suvarovs, and I've got a diagram of the Presidential residence here." Aaron passed over another paper from the stack on his desk. They studied it together, reviewing exit routes and possible security weaknesses. "At least we won't have to go chasing around Moscow too much," Cardona commented. "They'll be in the Kremlin most of the time."

"Yep, and we'll be working with the Russian security agents a lot. I've talked to CTU to find out what their protocol is like. I know a few of their guys from the last time we were over there, and that ought to help." Aaron had accompanied President Palmer on a brief trip to Moscow several years before.

"You get to play diplomat, then. Any grumpy Russians I'll refer to you." Cardona grinned as Aaron winced in response.

"So you want the 2 a.m. to 10 a.m. shift, do you, Jon?" They both laughed, and Aaron continued: "Just make sure our guys keep their horns pulled in. We're not in charge, they are. Any conflicts that come up, bring to me and I'll see what I can do." Aaron shook his head. "This administrative stuff… I'm still getting used to it."

"You're doing great, Aaron. Not to worry." His second-in-command looked at him reassuringly. "I guarantee you, none of those Russian guys are going to give you a hard time. You saved their President's life, and they know it." He stood and gave Aaron a pat on the shoulder. "This trip is gonna go just fine."

"So, Martha." Beth Gardner gave a quick, mechanical smile. "I'm so glad you could make it. I've been hoping you could visit, and I wanted us to have a chat about the Suvarovs. By the way, how are you doing?"

"I'm doing okay, Beth, thanks." Martha was holding herself in check. She was not looking forward to spending five days in close proximity with the new First Lady ("Honestly, Aaron, I'd rather you stuck needles under my fingernails than put me on a plane with that woman," she'd complained). She reminded herself that at least she'd be suffering for her country, and wondered if this would qualify her for a Purple Heart.

"How are things going with you? I'm seeing great things about you in the press," she added, trying to be generous. Beth Gardner had indeed thrown herself wholeheartedly into supporting her husband, and was giving the American public exactly the kind of First Lady it wanted: sweet, feminine and committed to good causes. At times Martha had wondered how much her dislike of Beth was due to the knowledge that she was doing a better job as First Lady; with Beth's next words, she realized that there were much better reasons why they'd never been able to stand each other.

"I hear you've gone in for public speaking. Do you really feel you can do that? I mean, you know, after what happened before." Martha knew Beth was referring to her track record of disastrous public appearances.

"I'm not worried about it. I'm speaking to organizations I support on topics that I'm interested in. And frankly, Beth, I need the money." She found the look of shock on the other woman's face immensely entertaining.

"The _money?_ But I always thought you and Charles…" Beth let the sentence trail off.

"Were well off? We are, but everything's community property. When I filed for divorce all the accounts were frozen except what's in my name alone, and that isn't very much. That's one of the little things that make getting divorced so much fun." Martha shrugged. "Besides, it's probably good for me to earn my own money. My psychiatrist thinks it's therapeutic," she added, knowing that any reference to her history of mental instability would make Beth feel uncomfortable. She was not surprised when Beth responded to this gambit by turning the subject to their upcoming trip.

"Tell me about the Suvarovs. You must be great friends with Anya?"

"I wouldn't say great friends, but I did get to know her somewhat. Her English is good and she's very easy to talk to." Martha's assessment of Anya Suvarov, in fact, was that she was as expert at playing the part of First Lady as Beth Gardner, only nicer. "She's very interested in the arts. I remember we talked about the ballet quite a bit. I wouldn't be surprised if we got invited to a performance while we're there."

Beth's face brightened. "Oh, that would be nice." She hesitated, then added: "Hal is really happy that you agreed to come with us. It's nice of you to help us out. He really wants this trip to be a success."

Martha accepted this attempt at conciliation. "Anything I can do to help, I'll do. We're all in the same boat here, Beth. Charles left a huge mess behind him and I don't think it's fair for Hal to have to clean all of it up by himself. I'm going to steer Anya Suvarov to you as much as I can, but she may want to talk to me more, especially at first. There's probably not a lot I can do about that. Remember," she added hastily, "my job is to get her to invite you back. That's all I'm trying to do." This seemed to pacify Beth, who relaxed and continued to ask Martha for information about the Suvarovs. Nothing of note occurred during the rest of their meeting until Beth commented, "Hal wants to meet with Yuri Suvarov to discuss how the anti-terrorism treaty is working out."

Martha flinched. Suddenly she was reliving the attack on the motorcade: the flash of fire and explosions, and the moment she'd thought Aaron was dead.

"_Martha?_"

"Sorry, Beth. I must have had a flashback or something." Martha realized she was sweating and clutching the arms of her chair. "It's nothing, I still sometimes have memories of what happened."

"Of course. Anyone would. But you don't need to worry, Martha. Nothing's going to happen this time."

Mike Novick was in his element at a cocktail party. Blessed with a memory for names and a penchant for political gossip, it was rare that he found himself bored at such functions, and usually came away from them with a piece or two of useful information to boot. Though he was not to know it, on this occasion he was to be the supplier of said information. The think tank for which he was now working was hosting a reception for a visiting economist who had recently won the Nobel Prize, and he now found himself standing next to a somewhat stocky older man with a permanent look of worry etched on his face.

"Mike Novick. I work with the Institute," he said briefly, shaking hands as he had already done half a dozen times that evening.

"Ah, Mr. Novick. My name's Gene Dunlap. I think we have a mutual acquaintance, the former President Charles Logan – my firm's representing him."

"Yes? I hear you're doing an excellent job." Novick somehow restrained himself from adding, "of shielding that scumbag from his mistakes."

"That's very kind of you." Dunlap's expression relaxed for a moment. "And are you enjoying your work here?" He gestured around the Institute's reception hall.

"Very much. It's a bit of a change from the White House, but I like the variety." Out of curiosity, Mike shifted the topic of conversation back to Logan. "Is Charles Logan's defense going well? Mrs. Logan is a friend of mine, and I know she's been to see Charles once or twice. She seems happy with how the case is being handled."

"I think we're doing very well. My partner is handling the day-to-day details, but I've visited Mr. Logan several times. It's been a challenging situation," he added blandly.

_I'll bet it has,_ Novick commented silently. His thoughts were interrupted by a query from Dunlap: "And how is Mrs. Logan? My partner was very impressed with her. I hope she's doing well?"

"Very well, in fact, she's going to be accompanying President Gardner and his wife to Russia next week. The Suvarovs requested that she be present during the summit. She's a great favorite of theirs." Mike noted with pleasure that Dunlap seemed suitably impressed with this information. At this point they were joined by the guest of honor and the conversation shifted to the current state of the Russian economy; Mike quickly forgot about Martha Logan's upcoming trip. Dunlap, however, did not.

For a moment Aaron thought he'd walked into a fashion boutique instead of Martha's apartment. Angie and Martha were standing in the middle of the living room surrounded by what looked, to his dazed eyes, like dozens of outfits.

"We're going for five days, Martha," he commented mildly. "Not a month."

"I _know_ that, Aaron. This is a diplomatic nightmare. I can't figure out what to wear." Martha looked frazzled; Angie looked patient. "This may sound stupid, but it really isn't. I have to look good, but not too good. I don't want to look like a frump, but I can't outdo Beth Gardner either."

Aaron shrugged. "Well, there's nothing you can do about that. Stop worrying about it."

Martha bristled. "What do you mean?"

"You're prettier than she is," he explained simply. "You're always going to look better than she does. Just stick to something simple and you'll be fine." Angie looked at him, stunned.

"Oh, Aaron…" Martha threw her arms around him. "Do you really think so? I'm so sick of worrying about this, you have no idea," she added apologetically.

He smiled into her eyes. "I absolutely do think so. I used to read those fashion articles about you all the time. I know you know what's right to wear."

Her eyes widened in delight: "You _did?_ Really?"

He grinned. "Yes, I really did, and I can tell you I've never read anything about fashion before in my life. As a matter of fact, I think I just quoted something you said in one of them."

Her face lit up. "Well, then, let me show you… this is the only new thing I bought for the trip. I think you'll like it." She vanished into the bedroom.

Aaron stared out the window, trying to avoid Angie's smirk.

"Well, I never thought I would live to see this. Aaron Pierce, fashion consultant."

"Angie."

"You might as well propose to her and get it over with—"

"_Angie!_"

"All right, all right. I'll let you off the hook, because you've just done me a huge favor. We've been at this for over an hour. And, frankly, you're a better judge of clothes than I am. My favorite part of the military was you never had to worry about what to wear."

Aaron started to laugh. "I've never seen you in over your head before, Angie."

"I have my limits, and this is one of them."

He glanced toward the bedroom and lowered his voice. "Angie, listen. I've been talking to the Service people and I want you to bring your gun with you on this trip. Agent Cardona knows you were with the Army and he doesn't have a problem with it. It's unofficial, but you'll be an extra layer of security and I don't want to take any chances."

"You gonna deputize me, Sheriff?"

"It pretty much comes to that. Martha's still getting over what happened and I know she trusts you. Anything we can do to make her feel safer, I want to do."

"That's fine, Aaron." Suddenly Angie was serious. "I still can't believe all of you survived that attack. It must have been horrible."

"The truth is it happened so fast I didn't have time to be scared. And when you train for this sort of thing, it's a little bit different." They were interrupted as Martha swept out of the bedroom wearing a simple but beautifully tailored long black dress. She'd quickly piled her hair on top of her head and accompanied the dress with dangling jet earrings.

"Do you like it?"

Aaron stared at her, speechless. Angie leaned forward and whispered, "I think he likes it." She smiled, picked up an armful of clothing, and headed off to Martha's bedroom.

"This is going to be a very, very difficult trip." He kissed her. "How I'm going to keep from calling you 'Martha' is beyond me, not to mention wanting to kiss you every time I see you."

She grinned, and slowly backed him to the wall. "This isn't going to be a piece of cake for me either." She gently pressed herself against him, and he relaxed into her embrace. Every inch of his body was supported; he realized he had never felt so loved. He whispered into her ear, "I promise I will never ask you to do this again. When we get back, I don't care who knows. No more hiding."

She smiled for a moment, but then shivered and looked down. "I think I just felt someone walking on my grave. I've been having bad thoughts all day—" she looked at him questioningly. "Is it going to be all right, Aaron?"

"I believe it will. I've been reviewing everything, talked to CTU again, and I don't foresee any problems. But you know I'll keep checking."

She slid her arms around his neck. "If it weren't for you, I couldn't go through with this." She sighed, then smiled. "I'll see you on the plane?"

"You'll see me on the plane. You may not see much of me on the trip, but I'll be paying attention every second." He kissed her again and she walked him to the door.

Gene Dunlap had made a phone call as soon as he'd left the party. The man on the other end picked up with a quick, impatient "Yes?"

"Graham, Gene Dunlap here. I've got some news for you."

"I thought you said you couldn't get anything from Logan anymore." The voice was cold.

"This isn't from Logan, it's from his former assistant Mike Novick. I ran into him at a reception and he told me something you might want to know. It's about the President's trip to Russia next week." Dunlap's voice was conciliatory, almost anxious.

"What is it?"

"Martha Logan is going to Russia with the Gardners. I understand the Suvarovs specially requested to see her."

"Really." There was a pause on the other end. "This might be useful. Our associates in central Asia have been accusing us of setting them up for failure. If we pass this along in good faith it might distract them from coming after us. They still think Logan said something to CTU to interfere with their attack on the Suvarovs." A further pause. "Good work, Gene. I'll remember this."

"Thank you, Graham."

_moneym_


	10. Chapter 10

Martha had never realized before how much Air Force One felt like a cage. Her trip back to Washington from the retreat had been barely two months ago, but it felt more like a decade: _I've changed more than I thought_. She pushed this out of her mind and followed the First Lady to the upper deck. Hal Gardner had gone to the conference area of the plane to confer with his cabinet by phone, leaving Angie, Beth and Martha to entertain one another in the Presidential suite; fortunately, it was Beth's first time on Air Force One and she was too excited for conversation. Her delighted explorations left Martha free to confer with Angie and required only the occasional "isn't that wonderful?" or "I know, I _love_ that" to keep her happy.

"You knocked 'em dead, Martha. Keep this up and you'll have a whole new career ahead of you." Angie looked up from a handful of press clippings and smiled.

"If anyone had ever tried to tell me that I'd enjoy doing this, I wouldn't have believed it." Two days after her first foray into public speaking, Martha still looked mildly surprised. "I'm actually looking forward to the next one."

"We've got time to kill. If you want to start drafting your next speech, this may be your only chance for the next several days."

"You're right. What can I say about the importance of education that's never been said before?"

"Nothing, probably. But it isn't what you say, it's how you say it. What about the importance of electives like languages and art?"

"Good idea. I was thinking about speaking out for charter schools."

"That'll guarantee you some press. If you need any research done for this stuff, let me know what you need and I'll work on it when we get back."

Martha relaxed into her seat and began scribbling phrases and ideas as they occurred to her. She was jerked out of her concentration by a nudge from Angie: "Agent Pierce, ma'am."

Aaron had entered the suite, ostensibly to greet the First Lady. "Mrs. Gardner. Is everything all right?" he inquired formally. It came almost as a shock to Martha to see Aaron in his professional role again, unassuming and watchful.

Beth gave him a bright smile. "Yes, Agent Pierce, thank you." He nodded and continued on to Martha and Angie: "Is there anything you need, ma'am?"

"Thank you, Aaron, I think we're fine." Martha smiled and gestured to her legal pad. "I'm working on my next speech. The first one went really well," she added, lowering her voice.

He gave her a quick smile. "I was sure it would." As Beth came up to them, he changed the subject. "I came to tell you that the President says he'll be with you in half an hour, Mrs. Gardner."

"Thank you, Agent Pierce." As Aaron left the cabin, Beth leaned over to Martha. "He used to be your regular agent, didn't he? Agent Pierce?"

"Yes. He stayed on with the White House after his promotion. I've got Agent Cardona now." Unable to resist, Martha added: "What do you think of him?"

Beth looked puzzled. "Well, he seems very nice, and I know Hal thinks a lot of him. I'd say he's an excellent agent. But… he doesn't talk very much, does he?"

Martha managed to keep a straight face. "No, he doesn't. He never talked much to me either, but he notices pretty much everything. I'm glad he was assigned to this trip. He saved my life and the Suvarovs' during the attack; they'll probably remember him."

The President joined them shortly afterward. As the hours passed and they drew closer to their destination, he grew distracted and seemed unable to concentrate. Martha eventually realized that Hal was nervous, which surprised her until he leaned over while Beth was giving orders for dinner and whispered, "Martha, you may have to give me that pep talk again."

She grinned and whispered back, "I may have to give it to myself." The more she'd thought about Hal's plan of bringing her to Moscow, the more she wondered if it would work. She'd spent less than twelve hours with the Suvarovs the day of the attacks, not enough time for her to get to know them well. No matter how much they appreciated her presence, all the goodwill in the world might not be enough for them to establish a closer relationship. Then again, what if Yuri and Anya were to snub the Gardners and spend all their time with her? Diplomacy was not Martha's strong point, and she was unsure if she'd be able to steer the talks back on course if they did not go well. Hal's tension proved to be catching; by the time they landed in Moscow, she too was a bundle of nerves.

"Okay, here we go," muttered Gardner as they filed off the plane. Martha had expected that their party would be escorted to the Kremlin to meet the Suvarovs there; she was surprised to see them waiting on the tarmac, surrounded by a group of dignitaries and accompanied by several intimidating types who had to be Russian Secret Service agents.

"The locals don't look too welcoming," Cardona commented irrepressibly to Aaron as they fell in behind the Presidential group.

"I see one guy I know. His name's Kryukov. Speaks English pretty well." Aaron was delivering this information in telegraphic sentences while keeping his eyes on the tableau ahead of him. "I'll talk to him as soon as I get a chance."

"Mr. President. Welcome to Russia." Yuri Suvarov smiled and shook Gardner's hand. Martha had carefully positioned herself behind Beth Gardner, and felt a moment's relief as she realized that the Suvarovs were determined to show a good public face. They moved on to greet Beth with equal politeness, and then Anya seized her hand.

"Martha! It is so good to see you. You are well?" Martha saw genuine concern in her eyes, and was touched; if Hal Gardner's theory was correct and the Kremlin knew what Charles had done, they would undoubtedly have known of the collapse of her marriage as well.

"I'm very well, Anya, thank you for asking. It's very good of you to welcome us like this," she added, smiling. "It's wonderful to see you again. I'm very grateful to President and Mrs. Gardner for inviting me." This for the benefit of Beth, still standing next to her.

"Come, we will get you inside as soon as possible. This rain…" Anya gestured to the grim-looking skies overhead and made a grimace of disappointment. "I was hoping for better weather, Mrs. Gardner, but we must take what we are given." Anya gave a few crisp orders and led them to a car waiting nearby, making small talk all the while. She seemed surer of herself on her home ground than she had in California, and Martha again realized that she was a highly competent First Lady.

Standing on the tarmac, Aaron eyed the Presidential limousine as it pulled away. He noted with approval that it was accompanied by two cars of agents as well as a motorcycle escort, then glanced around and succeeded in catching Kryukov's eye. The agent stepped forward and shook Aaron's hand with scrupulous politeness. Slightly taller than Aaron, he had a passing resemblance to Arnold Schwarzenegger enhanced by his accented English: "Agent Pierce, yes? Our President has had nothing but good things to say about you." He smiled. "He says you are a very fine shot."

"Thank you," Aaron replied, bowing slightly. "Agent Kryukov, Agent Cardona. We're looking forward to working with you again."

Kryukov nodded to Jon. "We shall meet," he announced. "When everyone has returned to the Kremlin there will be time to discuss the schedule for this week."

"That will be fine." Kryukov led them to a nearby car and Aaron nudged Jon, who had bristled slightly: "Remember what I told you? _They're_ in charge."

"Sorry about that, chief," Cardona apologized, grinning. "You're right."

An hour later, Aaron and Jon sat in conference with Kryukov and several of the Russian agents reviewing the agenda for the summit. Since Gardner's goal had been to re-establish diplomatic relations between the two countries, the schedule emphasized meetings and relatively few trips outside the Kremlin.

"Tomorrow night the opera at the Bolshoy… that should be easy," commented Kryukov. "We know that building very well. Then there is the reception at the American Embassy. They always have their parties in the Great Hall on the first floor. Very large room. We will be guarding the doors, of course, and have agents on the inside as well."

"This area?" Cardona indicated a room at one end of the Great Hall.

"Kitchen facilities. The embassy always uses the same caterers. They have been thoroughly checked."

The meeting was short and to the point. "Thank you, gentlemen," commented Kryukov, as he stood to indicate the end of their conference. "We will leave you to unpack and rest for a bit. Nothing is planned for this evening."

After Jon and Aaron left, the Russians resumed their seats. The atmosphere of the meeting changed slightly, partly because at least half the agents lit cigarettes as soon as the Americans were out of the room. The tone of their discussion now, while less formal, was just as businesslike:

"Can we trust them?"

Kryukov rolled his eyes. "Of course we can. This Pierce is one of their best. He's the one who shot those terrorist bastards while they were trying to blow up the motorcade. I remember him from the Palmer visit a few years ago, and he was the same then. I always heard that Palmer would have trusted him with his life."

"Then do we follow protocol, or do you wish to make an exception, sir?"

Kryukov frowned for a moment. "We can't make an exception. Not after what happened with Logan. I know President Suvarov expects the recordings to be made. And this Gardner… no one knows him well, and he worked with Logan." He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think we have a choice."

Their first day or so in Moscow Martha continued to wonder whether Hal Gardner would be successful in his quest to repair the relationship between the Suvarovs and the White House. She had no opportunity to question Gardner directly as to the progress of their talks, and was reduced to observing his mood when they met for meals. Beth and Martha were accompanied by Anya Suvarov almost constantly, so that pumping Beth for information was also not an option – not that Beth would have been likely to tell her anything. After this bitter reflection, Martha made an effort to pull herself together and reminded herself that she was here in the role of catalyst, not as First Lady and definitely not as Beth's confidante.

The most difficult part of the trip by far was being cut off from Aaron. She knew his priority was her and the Gardners' safety, and she didn't want to endanger his job by making their relationship public, but aside from occasional eye contact she almost never saw him. When he did speak to her it was always formally, but gradually she noticed that he never referred to her as "Mrs. Logan" if he could help it, substituting "ma'am" instead. Once they did exchange a few words, while she was chatting with Anya and Beth regarding the opera they were to attend that evening:

"Do you go to opera often, Martha?"

"Not all that often, but I certainly remember the last time I went. It was the last time I saw David Palmer." Martha sighed. She and Charles had had tickets, but Charles hated the opera. Seeing that David Palmer was in Washington, she'd called him on a whim to see if he was free that night. He was, and was glad to accompany her. "We had a wonderful time, but I can't remember what we saw, believe it or not."

"It was _Carmen_, ma'am."

She turned and smiled. "Was it, Aaron? That's right, you came with us that night." Aaron had actually volunteered for an extra shift when he'd heard Palmer was coming, though she did not know that.

"Are you interested in opera, Agent Pierce?" Anya looked slightly surprised.

Aaron looked slightly abashed. "Well, I remember this one, Mrs. Suvarov. It was very good." He'd been struck by how much Bizet's beautiful, dangerous heroine resembled Sherry Palmer, and he'd entertained himself during the performance by imagining her taking the stage as Carmen. He quickly returned to his position behind them and continued to escort them through the Kremlin before he could attract any more attention to himself.

Midway through the trip Martha's mood improved as the Suvarovs seemed to thaw from their guarded politeness. This was no doubt aided by Gardner's relaxed charm, in contrast to Logan's shrill edginess; Martha had to admit that Hal was much better at concealing his anxiety than Charles had ever been. Fortunately, Gardner and Suvarov had discovered a common interest in hockey during one of their early conversations. Since both had competed on teams in high school, this topic could be relied on to clear the air after moments of tension. While Suvarov never directly accused Logan of betraying his whereabouts to the terrorists, his offhand references to the attack were double-edged enough that no doubt was left in Hal's mind that Suvarov knew what had happened. Very little progress was made regarding the treaty, but Gardner allowed himself to hope that future visits would accomplish more in that direction.

The day of the embassy reception, Martha was waiting for Angie in the sitting room of her suite. She was searching for her evening purse when she heard a knock, followed by "May I come in, ma'am?" from the hallway. Aaron entered and closed the door behind him.

"Aaron! Is everything all right?"

He moved into the center of the room, lowering his voice. "Everything's fine. I finally got a few minutes to myself and I really wanted to see you." He looked at her for a moment. "You look beautiful, Martha. I had a feeling you'd be wearing that dress tonight."

She read the longing in his eyes and moved closer to him. "You promised me you'd kiss me in the Kremlin," she reminded him softly.

He pulled her into his arms. "You know I always keep my promises." What started as a slow, soft kiss quickly deepened into a passionate embrace as they sought to take advantage of the first moments alone they'd had in days. The memory of their enforced separation was like throwing gasoline on a fire. Finally, Aaron pulled back with a sigh. "These have been the longest three days of my life." He cupped her cheek in his hand and gave her a searching look. "How are things going? Are you okay?"

"It's going all right, Aaron. I really think the President's going to pull this off." She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. "Everything's okay except for how much I miss you."

"I love you, Martha." He hadn't planned to tell her, but once the words were out he would never have taken them back. "I want you to know that I love you."

Overwhelmed with happiness, Martha was unable to speak; instead she hugged him fiercely, feeling tears well up in her eyes. When she was able to trust her voice, she whispered, "I love you too, Aaron." She tried to smile. "How did I get so lucky?"

"The luck's all on my side, Martha." He leaned his forehead against hers for a moment, and she buried her face in his shoulder. "Oh, Aaron, I don't think I can stand this much longer. I can't wait till we get home."

He stroked her back comfortingly. "Just two more days." He gave a deep sigh. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. Where's Angie?"

"She should be here any minute. You should have seen her this afternoon, she was so loaded down with catalogs and file cards from the museum it was unbelievable." Martha giggled for a moment. "She says she came here with a shopping list Marie gave her of stuff she wants for the Smithsonian."

"Oh, Marie lives for that sort of thing." Aaron grinned. "If it weren't for her job, she'd be a hoarder for sure, but she files all that stuff at work instead."

Martha was stunned by the beauty of the Embassy. She'd heard many references to the Great Hall where the reception was to be, but was unprepared for its sheer height and length. The focal point of the room was a huge crystal chandelier hung from the domed ceiling. After their arrival, she and the Gardners had been greeted by the ambassador and passed on to the room at large. She could see Aaron from time to time, usually by one of the doors leading into the Hall or talking with Jon Cardona.

The Gardners were surrounded by a large group of embassy staff, and Beth looked to be in her element. Martha grinned and felt herself relax as she realized that she was free to talk to whomever she wanted instead of being forced to talk to "the right people." She helped herself to some of the appetizers that were circulating, then found herself addressed by the consular director, a friend of Mike Novick. He introduced her to several Americans who had been invited to the reception; Martha recognized one or two of them as contributors to the Keeler campaign. She found herself having a better time than she'd hoped for, up until the moment when dinner was announced.

Aaron was first to notice that something was wrong. He had his gun out without conscious thought before realizing that what had alerted him was one of the waiters, who was holding his tray awkwardly and reaching underneath it. As he caught Aaron's eye, the ersatz waiter panicked and, scrabbling for the object, lifted the tray up enough so that Aaron could see what it was.

It was a gun.

Without hesitation Aaron pushed the heavily loaded tray straight into the waiter's face. As he went crashing to the floor, Aaron pulled the gun from his grip. Unfortunately, two other "waiters" had seen their altercation and were headed for him, weapons drawn. "Protocol Red!" Aaron shouted, bringing agents on the run from every corner of the ballroom. A wave of attackers was now pouring out of the corridor that led to the kitchen; Aaron heard shots fired next to him and realized they were coming from Williams. He scrambled laterally across the room toward the Gardners, standing near the podium, spotting Angie in the process: "Angie, get Martha!" he shouted.

Martha was standing about halfway down the hall. She'd been chatting with Anya Suvarov and the Ambassador when the attack started. The gunshots and chaos petrified her, taking her back to her panic and helplessness during the attack in Los Angeles; she was unable to move.

Two men, shielded by a flanking line of attackers, headed toward her shouting in Russian. Anya stiffened, grabbing Martha's arm and shouting at her to run… "they're after _you!_" Cardona was running toward them but was still too far away to help. Suddenly Angie lunged forward, firing shots and taking down the two leaders. Jon joined her and blocked Martha and Anya, shouting instructions: "Get back! Get them out of here!"

The Gardners and President Suvarov were now surrounded by a knot of agents. Kryukov had joined Aaron and Williams and was shouting orders to his staff, while coolly firing at the attackers still headed in their direction. There were fewer of them now. _We've got them on the run,_ Aaron thought for a moment, then sensed a body falling heavily at his feet.

He looked down. It was Williams. For a moment, he was stunned. A second later he forced himself to look up again, but it was too late. He felt a hammer blow on his chest, and then lost consciousness.

Angie and Jon between them had herded Martha and Anya Suvarov into a small holding room off the ballroom that could be more easily defended. The rest of the attack was a blur of noise and confusion that slowly resolved; gradually Martha realized that Cardona was shouting into his wristcuff radio rather than firing. She was able to hear the outcome of the attack by standing near him:

"The Gardners are safe…"

"Williams is dead."

And the words that would echo in her memory the rest of her life:

"Agent Pierce is down― "


	11. Chapter 11

"He's alive, Martha. He's still alive."

"Angie… Oh my God…" Angie was supporting Martha toward the car, flanked by Agent Cardona and a squadron of FSB agents.

"Hurry, Mrs. Logan. We need to get you out of the attack zone as fast as possible." A worried-looking Cardona hustled her bodily into the car with the Gardners, then jumped into the front seat. He nodded to the driver, who shouted out the window to their motorcycle escort. Instantly a cacophony of lights and sirens started up and the driver accelerated out the gates of the embassy compound.

Martha never knew afterwards how she was able to keep from breaking down completely during the ride back to the Kremlin, but somehow she managed to conceal her distress over Aaron from the Gardners. Beth supplied a diversion by leaning on her husband's shoulder and having a mild case of hysterics; Angie held Martha's hand and kept handing her tissues. Once back at the Kremlin, they were escorted to the Suvarovs' living quarters by a group of agents. Anya and Yuri Suvarov, looking equally shaken by the evening's events, were already present.

"Martha…" Anya Suvarov led her to a couch. "I told the FSB what I heard during the attack. Those men were looking for you. I heard them say that you were to be taken alive. We have to find out more about what happened."

"You mean tonight was my fault?" Martha was hardly able to get the words out. "Oh God, it _is_ my fault." Unable to support herself any longer, she slid down onto the couch.

"No, no!" Anya sat next to her: "Of course it wasn't your fault. They were trying to kill as many people as possible, and I'm sure that Yuri and I were targets also. What I mean is, our agents need to ask you some questions."

"I think I'd like to be present for this." Cardona looked toward the Russian agents. "If there is an ongoing threat against Mrs. Logan, I need to know about it. I'm responsible for her safety."

"I'd like to hear more about this as well, Mr. President," Hal Gardner chimed in. Suvarov nodded his assent. "Beth, I'll take you to our room first and then I'll be right back."

Martha made an effort to pull herself together. "Okay." She looked at Angie: "I'll be fine. Anything you can find out about how Agent Pierce is doing…" she looked appealingly around the room.

"Mrs. Logan," one of the agents said, "Agent Pierce was taken to St. Basil's Hospital. It's a private hospital with excellent staff."

"There are Western-trained surgeons there," Yuri Suvarov added. "I made it clear that his case is top priority. They were getting an operative team together and the plan was to take him to surgery immediately."

Martha nodded. "Thank you. After what he's been through already, I can't believe he's been injured again," she added in a weak attempt to explain her concern.

Hal Gardner touched her shoulder. "He was doing his job, Martha, and he did it well. Unfortunately, he's always at risk."

Martha nodded grimly. "I know."

A few minutes later Agent Kryukov entered the room. "I am sorry not to have been here sooner, Mr. President," he began, addressing Suvarov. "I was at St. Basil's with Agent Pierce, and I did not want to leave until they had taken him to surgery. He has a serious chest wound. The bullet went through his lung but did not hit any major blood vessels. They think he has a good chance. Unfortunately, nothing could be done for the other agent…"

"Williams," Martha whispered. "His name was Williams. He was assigned to me during the retreat in Los Angeles." She started to cry again. "He was so young, really." She looked at Cardona and saw that he too was upset.

"He was really excited about this trip, Mrs. Logan. It meant a lot to him to be here." Jon looked away, trying to collect himself.

"I am sorry," Kryukov repeated gently. "I can tell you that he was near me during the attack and he performed superbly. He was well trained." He looked toward Martha. "Mrs. Logan, time is of the greatest importance. We captured some of the terrorists, and my men are interrogating them as we speak. So far it has become clear that this was a very well-organized plan. The SVR has tracked some of these men to a terror cell located in Central Asia, and it would have taken some time to bring them to Moscow and to organize the attack." Martha nodded her understanding as Kryukov moved to stand in front of her. "If I have heard correctly, it was not widely known that you were coming to Moscow with the Gardners?"

Martha shook her head. "No. I had some concerns about the trip, so I asked President Gardner to keep it quiet for as long as possible. The press was not informed that I would be joining them until less than forty-eight hours before we left."

"You told no one yourself?"

"No one who was not immediately involved. I had to reschedule some personal appearances, but my assistant only said that I would be out of town. She didn't say where."

Kryukov looked to President Suvarov. "We checked with the SVR. They denied receiving any recent information about suspicious terrorist activity and they say they had no reason to assume an attack was likely. I can promise you, Mr. President, that further questions will be asked. Their agents are coming to assist with the investigation."

"Excuse me," Martha interposed, "what's the SVR?"

"The SVR is the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service. It is the equivalent of your CIA or CTU. My agents and I are FSB, which is similar to the Secret Service. We are both branches of the old KGB. In the old days," Kryukov explained dryly, "the KGB was responsible for everything. We are more specialized now." He gave her a direct look. "Mrs. Logan, is there anything that you can tell me, anything at all, about why these men should be targeting you? What use would you be to them?"

Martha shot a brief look at Hal. He nodded imperceptibly. "Go ahead," he muttered.

"I can think of only one reason," she began, glancing at the Suvarovs and then at Kryukov. "They might have wanted revenge on my ex-husband. I don't know how much you know about this, Agent Kryukov, but the truth is that during his presidency he became involved in a conspiracy with a group of separatist terrorists who wanted to attack Russia. Everything that happened the day that President and Mrs. Suvarov and I were attacked was related to that conspiracy. Charles is no longer President now, as you know, and he's in jail, but they may still be afraid that he might betray them in some way, or they may blame him for the failure of their plan. I really don't know." Exhausted, she slumped back on the couch, stealing a look at Gardner, who was looking worriedly at Suvarov.

Yuri quickly took control of the conversation. "I appreciate your honesty, Martha. Ivan, the SVR and I were… aware of some aspects of Mr. Logan's involvement. We believe that he acted alone, and that the situation got out of his control." He nodded toward Gardner, who relaxed somewhat.

Kryukov raised an eyebrow. "If this is the case, I am surprised that he has not been executed," he commented matter-of-factly.

Gardner opened his mouth to protest, but Martha responded before he could say anything: "The last time I spoke with him, he didn't sound as though he expected to stay alive for very long."

Kryukov gave her a look of comprehension, and stepped back. "Very well then. Thank you for your help, Mrs. Logan. We will take this information to the SVR and continue our interrogation. These terrorists, I am afraid, are ruthless people. They killed most of the catering staff before taking their places. I would strongly suggest that you cancel any plans you might have for tomorrow."

Martha stood up and looked toward the Suvarovs. "I am sure staying in the Kremlin will not be a problem. If I can be of any further help, please let me know."

Kryukov bowed and waited as she and Gardner left the room, escorted by Cardona. "Mr. President, before I go there's something I have to tell you," he then said quickly, switching to Russian. "It relates to the recordings we made at your request."

"The Gardners?"

"No, Mrs. Logan. It is information of a personal nature rather than relating to your talks with the American President, but given what happened tonight I thought you would need to know." Kryukov had lowered his voice as he spoke, and now closed the door.

The following morning was the last scheduled day of the Gardners' stay in Moscow. Although exhausted from the events of the night before, Hal Gardner found himself pleasantly surprised upon entering the conference room. There he found Suvarov waiting for him with a resolute look and, looking past him, saw two thick, bound documents upon the table.

"What happened yesterday is unacceptable," the Russian President began without preamble. "It is clear to me that these madmen are simply going to continue attacking both our countries. I have been giving some thought to this since last night and I would like to review the treaty with you." He gestured toward the table.

Gardner found himself speechless for a moment. "I'd be more than happy," he stammered. "And I completely agree with you. This problem isn't going to end until we take definitive action."

"Good." Suvarov sat down. "In addition to the military inspections that have already been organized, I had thought perhaps of beginning an exchange program between the SVR and CTU. I believe Interpol could be of help to us as well."

It was nearly five in the afternoon before Gardner and Suvarov emerged from their conference, triumphant. "We have been successful," Yuri announced, hugging his wife. "The treaty will continue and we have some new ideas for fighting terrorism." He looked toward Martha and smiled. "You will be able to return home tomorrow with good news for your country."

"I'm not going." Martha didn't realize that she had spoken out loud until she became aware that everyone in the room was staring at her. She realized instantly that if she were to stay behind with Aaron, she would have to reveal the truth of their relationship. Acting on impulse, she looked toward Hal Gardner. "There's something you don't know, that I haven't told you. Since I separated from Charles, Aaron Pierce and I have started seeing each other."

Beth stared at Martha, aghast; Hal merely looked stunned. Martha hastily averted her eyes from the Gardners and noticed that Kryukov was regarding her with respect rather than surprise. To break the uncomfortable silence, she addressed herself to Cardona, who did not look particularly surprised either. "We didn't want to make this trip any more complicated than it already was, so we agreed to keep things quiet until we returned home. But I can't leave tomorrow, not with Aaron still in the hospital."

"Mrs. Logan," Cardona responded, "we don't have a choice. Agent Pierce is disabled, and for now I'm in charge. We're down two agents, which means I have to leave with the Gardners tomorrow. I'd stay here with you if I could, but I can't. I'm afraid I have to insist that you accompany us tomorrow. It's for your safety, and I know Agent Pierce would say the same."

Martha shook her head stubbornly. "He probably would, but I also know that if our positions were reversed, and I were the one in the hospital, he'd stay with me. I can't leave him here."

"If that were the case, I'm sure he would," Cardona began, "but—" he was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder from Kryukov.

"A moment, Agent Cardona. Perhaps we can offer you an option." Confused, Jon allowed himself to be pulled off to one side. After a hasty glance back at Beth and Martha, who were now regarding each other rather in the way of two hostile stray cats, he focused on Kryukov.

"I know you are in a difficult situation," the other agent began calmly. "My impression is that Mrs. Logan will not leave tomorrow unless you physically restrain her." He smiled for a moment. "I don't think I would recommend that course of action."

Cardona eyed him suspiciously. "How much do you know about—what she just said?"

"As much as I need to know." Kryukov raised an eyebrow. "It's our job, yours and mine, to know such things. Privacy here is not regarded as a right the way that you are used to, perhaps, but I can promise you that we had no intention of revealing what we knew until Mrs. Logan made it public herself."

Cardona gave himself a moment to take in the implications of what Kryukov had just admitted to, then nodded. "You said you might have options?" He tilted his head back as he spoke to catch Kryukov's eye; the Russian was a full head taller than he was.

"We will be more than happy to make Mrs. Logan's safety our responsibility. Let me first tell you that from all we have gathered from our investigation of the attack, the terrorist group responsible has been broken. They will not be able to regroup any time soon. Also, we are fully prepared against a second attack. We will not let it happen. Mrs. Logan will not be traveling anywhere except between the hospital and the Kremlin, and we can take every precaution necessary. Leaving at unscheduled times, concealing her in utility vehicles or ambulances… all the usual strategies," Kryukov shrugged. "I also understand that her assistant, the woman Johnston, is retired military personnel?" He paused as Jon nodded assent. "She will accompany Mrs. Logan into the hospital daily. Her help will be invaluable."

Meanwhile, Beth had been shooting a barrage of accusing looks at her predecessor and now gave in to temptation. "Martha, what were you thinking?" she inquired sharply.

"About what exactly, Beth?" Martha answered coolly. "That I care about Aaron, or that I'm willing to speak up and say so?"

"I can't understand this. I mean, _Aaron Pierce?_ A Secret Service agent?"

"Yes, Aaron Pierce. He saved my life; he's done more for me than I can possibly tell you. If it weren't for him I'd probably be locked up back in Vermont right now." Martha noticed Hal wincing out of the corner of her eye, but continued to focus on Beth.

"You realize what people are going to think?" Beth continued. "That you got involved with him while you were married to Charles…"

"I don't care what they think, but for the record, that absolutely did not happen. Nothing happened between us until after I made the decision to divorce Charles and after I moved out of the White House. I want to make that clear," she added with a glance at Hal. "Besides, now that what Charles did is public knowledge, more or less, I don't think I'm going to be criticized all that much."

Beth shrugged. "Public opinion is in your favor, Martha, no question. You can date anybody you like. But there are people I could introduce you to, Hal could introduce you to… you know, people who matter."

Martha saw Anya Suvarov moving toward them, and willed herself not to create a scene by pulling Beth's hair. "Aaron matters to me. I'm not going to argue with you about this. There is no way I am leaving him here. I don't want to be a burden on the Suvarovs, I'm sure I can make some arrangement to stay locally, but I am not leaving Moscow until he's well enough to fly home."

"We would be happy to have you stay with us, Martha," Anya now intervened. "I think Ivan Kryukov has persuaded your Agent Cardona that we can take care of you properly. Colonel Johnston will remain with you, too, of course."

Martha restrained a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Anya. I appreciate it, I really do." Still fuming, she turned away, then stiffened as she realized Beth's remarks had triggered a memory. "Agent Kryukov!" she called urgently.

"Yes, Mrs. Logan?"

"I just remembered something. Last night you asked me if I had told anyone of my travel plans—I did tell someone, a personal friend, and I had forgotten."

"Who was this?"

"His name is Mike Novick. He used to be my husband's assistant."

"Would he have told anyone?"

"He may have. I didn't tell him not to. We were discussing other matters, and I mentioned the trip in passing."

Gardner looked at Martha. "I'll get in touch with Mike as soon as we get home. This may be important."

Martha stretched out her hand toward him warningly. "Try to keep it quiet, Hal. If Mike did tell anyone, I'm sure he had no idea that he wasn't supposed to. We don't want to raise any suspicion. I think Charles's fellow conspirators are still out there, and I don't want anything to scare them into hiding."

After a relatively subdued farewell dinner, the Gardners left early the following morning for Washington. As they departed Gardner took Martha aside and muttered, "Good luck. Get in touch if you need anything."

Martha gave him a hug of real gratitude. "Thank you, Hal. Thanks for understanding."

"I have a lot of respect for Aaron, and for you. I want you to know that." He turned away, then looked back at her and whispered, "Don't say anything here that you wouldn't want overheard. Agent Cardona thinks our conversations in the Kremlin may have been recorded." Martha gave him a shocked look, then nodded in agreement.

Shortly afterward, Angie and Martha found themselves being herded toward a small freight elevator in a dimly lit hallway. "Hurry," Kryukov ordered. "We are going to conceal you in a laundry truck, Mrs. Logan, to get you to the hospital." Noting Martha's look of surprise, he added, "I promised Agent Cardona that I would do everything in my power to keep you safe. This means we must resort to some unconventional methods to transport you."

"I'll do whatever you recommend," Martha replied hastily. "I appreciate the trouble you're taking, Agent Kryukov."

Kryukov gave her a quick smile. "Anything for a brother agent."

Once in the truck, Martha whispered: "Angie, did you get the cigarettes?" She gratefully grabbed the pack Angie handed to her. "Oh, thank God. Where did you get them?"

"A kiosk," Angie said dryly. "They're sold on every street corner."

"I love Russia," Martha muttered as she inhaled.

"I thought you were quitting."

"Well, I was… till this happened." She regarded the cigarette in her fingers, then shrugged. "Someday. When we get home."

Soon they arrived at their destination. Martha found herself escorted through an evil-smelling loading dock onto another freight elevator, then down a brightly lit hall lined with FSB agents and through a set of swinging doors.

"He is here, Mrs. Logan. Don't be shocked, the doctors just took him off the ventilator and he is still on an oxygen mask. He may not be able to speak." Kryukov gave a sharp look to the nurse about to accost them. She backed away quickly.

Martha sank down in the chair beside the bed, noting that Angie had been provided with a chair on the other side of the room. At first Aaron looked disturbingly anonymous, like any patient in intensive care; the oxygen mask hid his features, but his labored breathing was somehow familiar. She suddenly remembered the night in the stables when he had been beaten, and tears sprang to her eyes. She took his hand in both of hers and laid her forehead against it.

"Martha…" she barely recognized the croak as a voice at first, then looked up with hope.

"Aaron." She saw his eyes, open and looking back at her.

"You're all right?"

She leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Yes, I'm all right. Everything is all right. We're safe and all you have to do is get well."

He gave her an anxious look. "Williams?"

She hesitated, then realized she could not lie to him. "Agent Williams is dead, Aaron. I'm sorry," she added as a flicker of pain crossed his face. "The doctors tried, but there was nothing they could do." She kissed his hand. "I'll talk to his family, I'll do whatever I can."

"Cardona?"

"He left this morning with the Gardners. I was supposed to leave, but I'm going to stay with you. Angie is here—" she nodded across the room—"and Agent Kryukov is in charge. I'm staying with the Suvarovs. Don't worry," she added with emphasis. "I promise you I'm in very good hands. I do whatever Agent Kryukov tells me."

He tried to smile: "That'll be a first."

Martha found herself laughing. "You're important enough. I'll do it if I have to." She squeezed his hand and whispered in his ear: "I love you, Aaron. Please get better." Leaning over, she heard him whisper back: "I love you, Martha."


	12. Chapter 12

Aaron's recuperation lasted two weeks, during which Martha and Angie felt as if they'd been dropped into an alternate universe: long hours spent at St. Basil's were punctuated by their trips to and from the Kremlin, carefully scheduled at irregular times for safety. They traveled concealed in food shipments, medical supply vehicles, ambulances and any other method of transportation the inventive Kryukov could imagine. He appeared to be enjoying the challenge, Martha noted: "It is an opportunity to improve our fieldwork abilities," he commented to her at one point. "It gives our younger agents a chance to learn new anti-terrorist tactics." As he spoke, he helped her step from the hospital's loading dock into the back of yet another truck and offered her a cardboard box to sit on.

Once again Angie's organizational skills proved invaluable in a crisis; she quickly negotiated with the Kremlin staff for access to a fax machine, informed Susan Margate that their stay in Moscow would be prolonged and set about rescheduling Martha's upcoming speaking engagements. She made it a point to befriend as many FSB agents and members of the hospital staff as possible in an effort to ensure the staff's continued goodwill toward Aaron and themselves. After prolonged talks with the U.S. Navy she was also able to contact Aaron's son, at sea on active duty, and let him know of his father's injuries. When she saw Martha's anxiety level begin to escalate, she gently nudged her to continue work on her upcoming speeches, hoping to keep her from brooding on the latest attack.

Though busy, Anya Suvarov was always willing to talk in the evenings. Now unhindered by Beth's presence, Martha found herself pouring out not only the entire story of her relationship with Aaron, but nearly everything that had happened to her in the last few months—although she carefully avoided all topics pertaining to Charles Logan. Anya proved to be a sympathetic listener and was absorbed by Martha's description of her life since she'd left the White House and filed for divorce. "You cannot give all the credit to Agent Pierce and Colonel Johnston, Martha," she commented at one point. "It is always good to have friends to help you, but the true responsibility for your success lies with you. You have been incredibly strong."

One afternoon a few days after the attack, while Aaron was napping, Martha glanced over to Angie. Unaware that she was being observed, Angie had dropped her usual look of professional composure; Martha was shocked at the strain and fatigue on her face. "Angie? Are you all right?" she asked, feeling guilty that she'd been too wrapped up in her own concerns to ask sooner.

"I'm fine, Martha. Just tired, I guess."

Martha moved her chair closer. "Are you sure?"

"I was thinking about something Aaron said to me before we left. We were talking about the attack on the motorcade. I said how horrible it must have been, and he said it happened so fast he hadn't had time to be scared, and that his training had prepared him for it." Angie rubbed her eyes. "I was never under fire before, Martha. My time in the Army was mostly administrative, bureaucracy stuff. I've never been in a situation like that, and I can't stop thinking about it. My combat training was years ago, and the only thing I've done since then is target practice." She stared at Martha with a look of guilt. "I've never killed anybody before. I guess that's what's really bothering me."

"You probably saved my life, Angie. Did you talk to Agent Kryukov? He told me the men you killed were well-known terrorists. He said the SVR thinks they're responsible for a lot of attacks in the past. They killed a lot of people."

"He told me the same thing." Angie shrugged. "It isn't helping."

Martha glanced around to make sure they couldn't be overheard, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Angie, I know exactly how you feel. I've been through this too." She waited for Angie to look up and then continued: "Aaron told you I saved his life, didn't he?"

Angie nodded, with a puzzled look on her face.

"Did he tell you how?"

"He said you showed up at the stables just as that agent who went bad was getting ready to shoot him. He said you distracted the guy and Aaron was able to struggle with him for the gun, and then it went off and killed him."

"That's what I thought he told you. It isn't true, at least not all of it." Angie was now riveted with curiosity; Martha saw with satisfaction that her look of worry was gone. "Aaron was handcuffed. He couldn't really defend himself. When he tried to fight back, Agent Adams dropped the gun. He went for a crowbar instead, but I got to the gun and shot him before he could beat Aaron to death."

With a stunned look on her face, Angie stared across the room at Aaron and then back at Martha, who continued: "The next day Aaron testified that he'd killed Adams. Then he came to me, told me what he'd done and asked me to back him up. Nobody knew the truth of what really happened. He did it to protect me, and I appreciate it more than I can tell you, but I still have to live with what I did. I know I did the right thing, but I feel horrible every time I think about it. Sometimes I even dream about it."

"Oh, my God," Angie muttered. "Martha, I didn't know… I don't know what to say."

Aaron stirred. As he blinked awake, Martha quickly whispered, "Don't tell him I told you. At least not right now." Angie nodded in agreement.

It felt odd being back in the White House, Novick thought. When Hal Gardner had taken over as President, their mutually antagonistic history had made him sure he would never be setting foot in it again. Gardner's request to meet with him had made Novick faintly suspicious, not to say apprehensive, but his mantra "Never turn down an invitation to the White House" had ensured his acceptance

Gardner nodded to him but did not offer a handshake, which surprised Mike not at all. "Mr. President. I'm glad to see you got back safely." Mike glanced around the Oval Office, surprised to see only Gardner instead of the economic advisory group he'd been asked to join. "Am I early?" he inquired.

"No, Mike, you're not. I'm not expecting anybody else. I'm sorry about the ploy, but I needed to talk to you and I had to make sure you had a plausible reason for coming to the White House."

Novick gave Gardner a puzzled look, but sat down as the President gestured him to a chair. "What can I help you with?"

"It has to do with the terrorist attack in Moscow. The gist of it is this: we have reason to believe Martha Logan was the target. The investigation showed that it would have taken more than a week to plan the attack, but at Martha's request the press was not informed that she was joining us until less than two days before we left. She was nervous about the trip, and apparently rightly so. Up until she left she told only one person she was going to Russia. That person was you."

Mike gripped the armrests of his chair. "You're accusing me of having betrayed Martha?" he asked indignantly.

"No, of course not. Martha said herself that she didn't tell you it was confidential. We just need to know, did you tell anyone?"

"Well—" Mike paused. "Someone asked me about her the other day. I'm pretty sure I mentioned her going to Russia with you. Now who was it?" He closed his eyes and thought. "It was at the reception the Institute held…" He snapped his fingers. "I've got it. It was Charles Logan's attorney, I think his name was Dunlap."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. We were talking about Charles and that's when he asked after Martha." Novick suddenly looked worried. "You say _Martha_ was the target," he repeated slowly. "Now why would that be? She had nothing to do with what he did."

Gardner shrugged. "Revenge? Protection against Charles selling them out? We don't know. The Russian intelligence agents are still working on that one."

Mike looked stricken. "Is she all right? I haven't heard from her since you got back."

"She's all right, but she's still in Moscow. Aaron Pierce was shot in the attack, wounded pretty severely. He's still in the hospital there." Gardner paused. "She wouldn't leave without him." He and Novick looked at each other; finally Novick gave a nod of comprehension. "That doesn't surprise me," he muttered.

"Mike, please don't tell anyone about this. Counselor Dunlap has had a certain reputation in legal circles for a long time, and it's not a good one. He might well have leaked the information about Martha joining us, perhaps to Charles Logan, perhaps someone else—we don't know. If we're ever going to find out who the other people involved in this plot are we're going to have to keep this investigation as quiet as possible."

Mike considered for a moment, then rose from his chair. "I wish you good luck, Mr. President. I really do. I won't tell anyone about this. If there's anything I can do to help you or Martha, or Aaron, I hope you'll let me know."

Gardner smiled for a moment and extended his hand. "Thank you, Mike. I may be putting that advisory committee together after all. When I do, I promise you'll be invited to join."

As Aaron improved he was able to talk for longer periods of time. To keep him occupied, Martha encouraged him to talk about his life growing up in Texas and his early days in the Service. Eventually he spoke about the failure of his marriage.

"We got married about a year out of high school. We'd been dating about three years by then. I was in college, coming home at the weekends, and Diane was working and living with her folks. She was tired of it, and wanted to get married, and it seemed all right with me. Everybody we'd gone to school with was getting married right around that time." He stared at the ceiling for a while, remembering, and shook his head. "Looking back it seems like such an obvious mistake. We didn't know each other well enough. We thought we knew everything there was to know about each other, but we didn't."

Martha squeezed his hand. He smiled at her, then continued: "Anyway, things were all right for a while. We had Nathan—my son—and I started with the Service. After I got transferred to Washington, it wasn't so good. Diane never wanted to leave Texas, she wanted to be with people she knew and stay near her family. I kept encouraging her to try to meet people, spend time with the parents of Nathan's friends… but she wanted her old friends. And then after September eleventh, it got really bad. Diane just flat out refused to stay. She said she was going home for a vacation, and she wound up staying for a month. Nathan was just finishing high school, so she came back, but after he joined the Navy it was pretty much all over. She kept spending more and more time back home. I took some vacation time and went after her to try to convince her to come back, but the minute I set foot in town I knew something was wrong."

He reached for the water glass by the bedside and drank before continuing. "I wasn't there more than four hours before one of my friends told me Diane was having an affair. It was somebody we both knew from school. When Diane came back on her first visit she ran into him at a friend's house and that was all it took. I tried to convince her to come back and she told me she'd think about it." Looking directly at Martha, he continued, "I left the next day. I couldn't stay in town knowing people were talking about us. A week later she called me and told me she wasn't coming back and she wanted a divorce. I didn't fight it. I felt guilty about not trying harder, but I just couldn't take any more."

"I don't see what else you could have done," Martha countered. "Angie told me you were much too hard on yourself."

Aaron smiled. "Angie. She got me through it. That was when I really started to understand what it must have been like for her when she left. It's hard when everybody you know is gossiping about you. We didn't get close until my marriage started falling apart, and I feel badly about that now."

"You shouldn't feel bad, Aaron. She thinks so much of you. And she's wonderful; I don't know what I would have done without her the last few months. I've never really thanked you the way I should have for referring her. She saved my sanity just as much as you did."

"Well, when I knew you were looking for an assistant she was the first person I thought of. I knew you'd like her." He hesitated for a moment. "I thought she was going to marry my brother for a while, we all did. It took a long time for me to figure out why they broke up."

Martha stared at him for a moment. "You mean she _dated_ your brother?"

"Yes, ma'am, that she did. It threw Bill for a while when she left him, but he got past it, married somebody else and they're very happy." He smiled. "I know I didn't tell you that before, but it just seemed like it wasn't my business to."

"I think you were absolutely right. If I were applying for a job I wouldn't want somebody spilling my entire personal history, either." She leaned over and kissed his forehead. "I'm so glad you told me all this."

Ivan Kryukov spent as much time as he could manage talking with Aaron, sometimes discussing the findings of the SVR investigation and sometimes just sharing observations about their jobs. At first Martha worried that Kryukov's comments would agitate Aaron, but soon she realized that having a chance to discuss work was therapeutic for him; Aaron was always more relaxed after their conversations.

As Aaron's strength improved, his surgeon encouraged him to get out of bed and exercise. He was initially reluctant to do this; once Kryukov happened to drop by as he was grumbling to Angie, "How am I supposed to go out there when I don't have any pants?" The next day Kryukov appeared with a track suit under his arm. "Put this on," he ordered. "We're going for a walk."

Aaron unfolded the suit, noting the Cyrillic printing across its front. "What's this?" he inquired.

"It's an FSB suit, we use them for physical training. Consider it a souvenir." Kryukov gestured toward the hall. "Come along and show my men what you Americans can do."

Escorted by Kryukov, Aaron appeared to a muted chorus of approval and clapping from the FSB agents guarding the hospital corridor. He grinned in response and set off toward the end of the hallway. As he neared his goal, Angie and Martha stepped off the elevator and he had the additional pleasure of seeing their jaws drop in surprise.

"We'll meet you back at the room when you're done," Angie said, smiling. "Oh, and I brought you that Tabasco you asked for."

After two victory laps up and down the hall, Aaron returned to his room and practically collapsed onto the bed. "I guess I'm not as strong as I thought," he gasped, putting his oxygen back on.

"You did have part of your lung removed. You need a little time to get used to it," Angie reminded him. She glanced over at Kryukov, who had picked up the bottle of Tabasco and was staring at it in puzzlement. "It's hot sauce," she explained, "something to put on your food to spice it up."

"Ah, yes, I understand. St. Basil's is supposed to have better food than average, but it is still hospital food." He glanced back to Aaron. "Well, my friend, I must go but I will see you tomorrow. We will go for another walk, longer this time." Aaron waved weakly as he left the room.

"You're quite the rock star," Angie commented. "Those guys out there were really cheering you on."

"What are they all doing here? It can't just be for me."

"They're here to show their respect. As far as they're concerned you're a celebrity. You saved their President's life, twice, and they know you're dating the former First Lady. Martha's been out there all week thanking them for their help and charming their socks off. Aaron, these guys think you're James Bond." She chuckled at the expression on his face. "Next time you go out there, shake a few hands and say hello. They'll really appreciate it."

Determined to get well as fast as possible, Aaron pushed himself to pace the hospital corridors as often as he could tolerate it, sometimes accompanied by Martha or Angie, sometimes by himself. A few days later with the assistance of the agents guarding him he tried a few short trips up and down the stairwell; hailed by an anxious nurse, his surgeon appeared shortly afterward. After checking his vital signs and oxygen level, the surgeon shrugged. "By all means, Mr. Pierce. The more you move around the better. Just promise me you'll stop if you feel faint or short of breath." He looked toward Angie and Martha. "I think he can be discharged in the next day or two. Go ahead and start making your travel arrangements."

Angie had already gone into conference with Kryukov on this matter, and with his help their plane tickets were purchased under Russian pseudonyms. "The airlines are willing to work with us," Kryukov explained. "Once we get you on the plane it will be too late for anyone to try to sabotage the flight." He also informed Jon Cardona of their impending departure via a secure line at the Kremlin, and convinced the Suvarovs to visit St. Basil's to say their farewells rather than accompany Martha to the airport, again for security reasons.

On their last morning in the Kremlin Martha and Angie were packing Aaron's things when a last-minute fax arrived. Angie gave it one glance and handed it on to Martha, who read through the first few paragraphs and looked up with a gasp. "It's from Susan. She sent my divorce papers!" She quickly scribbled her signature at the bottom of the form and handed it back. "Should I offer my congratulations?" Angie asked cautiously.

Martha drew a deep breath. "Yes, thank you."

"I'll go ahead and send this. Are you going to tell Aaron?"

After thinking it over for a moment, Martha shook her head. "I'll tell him on the plane. I don't want anything to distract him until I know we're on our way home."

Kryukov assembled a squadron of FSB agents to transport them to the Moscow airport. At the gate their goodbyes were brief but heartfelt: "I can't thank you enough for everything you've done," Aaron said, shaking hands all around. He looked at Kryukov. "Thank you for taking care of Martha."

"It was a pleasure. We should be thanking you as well, my friend. Without your actions at the Embassy, who knows how many more people would have been killed. Possibly including our President and yours." He smiled. "I have applied for the exchange program President Suvarov wants to initiate with CTU, so you may be seeing me again."

"You're welcome any time."

Aaron found the flight more exhausting than he had bargained for, and he had difficulty sitting comfortably despite the extra cushioning in first class. Sensing his weariness, Martha and Angie conferred a few hours prior to their arrival and decided the best solution was for him to spend the night at Martha's apartment. "It's closer to the airport, and I don't want you by yourself the first night out of the hospital," Martha explained. She half expected Aaron to object, but after a moment's thought he accepted gratefully. "He must _really_ be feeling bad," Angie muttered with a worried look.

Cardona met them at the gate with a group of agents. He was his usual energetic self: "Mrs. Logan, the press knows you're back. There's a lot of reporters outside, so we're going to get you to the car as fast as we can. Don't answer any questions, it'll just slow you down. Aaron, it's great to see you. Can you make it to the car? Just stick with the other agents. We'll blend you in with the group."

"I can make it. It's good to see you, Jon."

Once in the car Angie hastily explained their decision to have Aaron spend the night at Martha's apartment. Cardona nodded in agreement. "Probably a good idea. He looks beat." By the time they arrived, Aaron was looking more fatigued every minute. "I'm giving you a pain pill and you're going straight to bed," Martha told him. "I'll be on the couch in the living room if you need me. Want me to find your pajamas?"

"I'll settle for a T-shirt." Martha handed him one and turned down the bed. "I've got to go talk to Agent Cardona. I'll see you in the morning." She kissed him and closed the door behind her.

After a few minutes' discussion, Cardona agreed to pick Aaron up at ten the next morning. Shortly afterward he and Angie left and Martha collapsed gratefully onto the couch. At first she stared across the room in a haze of fatigue, but suddenly the crystal bowl on the mantelpiece caught her eye. It had been pushed to one side from its normal position in the center. Curious, she got up to take a closer look; she suddenly noted a piece of notepaper sticking out from under the bowl and unfolded it.

_Tell Charles Logan he needs to keep his mouth shut. For his sake and for yours._

Martha gasped in shock, then cursed as she dropped the paper. For a moment she panicked but forced herself to stand still rather than awakening Aaron. After a moment's thought she drew the window shades, turned on all the lights and checked the entire apartment, excepting her bedroom. Nothing else was out of place. She went back to the front door and examined it carefully, but found no evidence of forced entry. Opening the door, she beckoned to the agent in the hallway:

"Excuse me. Can you tell me if anybody was assigned to guard the apartment while I was out of town?"

"I don't think so, Mrs. Logan. I haven't been here for more than two weeks myself, that's all I can really tell you. Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine, thank you. It's nothing, I'll talk to Agent Cardona in the morning." Martha closed the door. _I can't do anything else tonight_, she thought. She quickly changed into a nightgown and robe, stuck the note in her pocket and went cautiously to check on Aaron. She looked around the bedroom as well as she could by the light from the hall but again saw nothing wrong.

"Martha."

"I didn't mean to wake you," she whispered. "Just checking." She sat next to him on the bed. "Do you need any water or anything?"

He smiled sleepily. "No, I'm fine." He took her hand and looked at her for a moment, suddenly more alert. "Something wrong?"

"It can wait. You need your sleep. I'll tell you in the morning." She suddenly realized he hadn't let go of her hand. They held each other's gaze for a moment longer and then he reached to the other side of the bed and turned down the covers.


	13. Chapter 13

Beep… beep… beep… 

Martha was so deeply asleep that it took her about thirty seconds even to become aware of the sound of her alarm. She tried to slam it off but found herself unable to move. She tried again with the same result and finally realized that Aaron's arms were wrapped around her and his head was nestled against her chest. She desisted, kissing the top of his head and waiting for him to loosen his grip; instead he pulled her closer. Though his eyes remained closed, Martha was able to discern a tiny smirk on his face as she peered at him.

She settled her hand on the small of his back. "That alarm isn't going to turn itself off, you know."

"Alarm? What alarm?" he mumbled.

Martha began to laugh, hugging him tightly and rubbing her cheek against his. "Good morning, Agent Pierce. I love you," she whispered in his ear. Aaron reached up, kissed her squarely on the mouth and then rolled over to turn off the alarm himself. Slumping back onto the pillows, he squinted at the digital display. "Eight-thirty. Is there something we're supposed to do today?"

"Agent Cardona is coming at ten. He's got the paperwork for your sick leave and he was going to help you with your luggage and drive you back to your car."

"Oh, right. And I've got to pick up my mail." Aaron looked unenthused at the prospect of a day of errands. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Very well. I was really tired. You?"

"Like a log. That pain pill really knocked me out. I don't remember a thing after you came in last night." He suddenly frowned. "Did something happen? You looked worried."

"Yes. Let me show you." Martha reached to the foot of the bed where she'd tossed her robe the night before. "I found this under that bowl that was left here the day I moved in."

Aaron glanced at the note and immediately shot upright in bed. "Damn!" He winced as the sudden movement jostled his injury. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You know why," she answered firmly. "You were exhausted, you'd had a long plane flight and you've just gotten out of the hospital. Angie and Agent Cardona had already left by the time I found it. I checked the whole apartment; I didn't find anything wrong. The door hasn't been forced and nothing's been taken. I talked to the agent on duty. He isn't sure, but it looks as though there weren't any agents assigned here while we were out of town. It could have been left here days ago."

"The place could still have been booby trapped." Aaron's expression didn't lighten.

"Then why bother to warn me? It looks like they're trying to enlist me to run their errands for them."

"It looks that way to me too." Aaron slipped his arms around her waist from behind and pulled her against him. "I hate to think of you getting dragged into this."

She turned around and kissed him. "I'm already in it, up to my eyeballs. I'm not going to let these people chase me out of town, Aaron. I don't know who they are, but I know they must be scared or they wouldn't be taking this kind of risk. I mean, breaking into my apartment? All they've really done is confirm that there's a conspiracy. They're exposing themselves."

He smiled. "You're right. I think. I'm not awake enough yet to really figure it out. Let's wait until Jon gets here and we can talk to him about it."

"Okay. I'm going to get breakfast. Is oatmeal all right? I haven't had a chance to get groceries yet."

"That sounds great, but coffee would be enough—"

Martha shot him a look. "You haven't had anything to eat in almost twenty-four hours. Go ahead and shower and breakfast should be ready when you're done." She started to get out of bed, then hesitated and hugged him close. "I'm really glad you're here. And I wish we didn't have to get up."

"Well, there's always tonight," he said softly.

She ran a finger inside the neck of his T-shirt. "In that case, leave your toothbrush here." She gave herself a second to enjoy his startled look, kissed him again and jumped out of bed.

Cardona's reaction to viewing the note was similar to Aaron's. He confirmed that no one from the Service had been assigned to Martha's apartment building during her trip to Russia. "I didn't think it was necessary, Mrs. Logan. I'm sorry, but this building is supposed to have the best security in town. I just can't believe this. I'll talk to the supervisor and try to figure out what happened."

"It's all right, Agent Cardona. Something similar to this happened the day I moved in, and Colonel Johnston and I talked to the staff then. We didn't find anything out. Neither did the police."

"Whoever this was, they know what they're doing," Aaron commented. "No fingerprints, no forced entry… could they have gotten a key somehow?"

Martha glanced between them. "Should I get the lock changed?"

"It can't hurt. At least it would make things more difficult for them. I'll see to that for you, Mrs. Logan." Aaron found himself being whisked off by Cardona, but managed to whisper "I'll call you later" as they headed out the door.

After emailing her grocery delivery order Martha shuffled quickly through her mail, setting anything official aside for Angie to deal with later. Her agenda included two phone calls, one to Susan Margate and one to Mike. She decided to call Susan first.

"Oh, Martha, I'm glad you called. Thanks for faxing back those papers. Your divorce is final, but I've been talking to James Warren—Mr. Logan's attorney—and there are some issues with regard to your community property that you need to know about."

"What sort of issues?"

"Mr. Logan is being sued in civil court for damages related to the day of the attacks. You know how many people were killed that day by the nerve gas alone."

Martha sighed. "Yes, I know."

"Well, by the time all the lawsuits are settled he may not have anything left. Any assets the two of you owned jointly are subject to claims for damages."

After a long pause: "Oh, my God. I can't believe this."

"I'm really sorry, Martha. I'll do what I can, but you may not be able to claim much from the divorce."

"But nothing I'm earning currently can be seized, can it?"

"Absolutely not."

"Listen, Susan. After what I've been through the last few months, the money is the least of it. I'm not going to starve, I know that. But there are a few things I'd really like to make sure don't get taken away. My parents left me a trust fund that's in my name; Charles never had anything to do with it. And a few personal items, some furniture and some things from the ranch… we aren't talking about a lot, but is there any way I can make sure they're protected?"

"We can try. Make a list of anything you really want. If it's okay with you, I'm going to call somebody I know who specializes in personal property law. If your ex-husband was never associated with that trust fund it should be safe, but I want to make sure."

"Go ahead." Martha hung up and grabbed a notepad and pen, wrote down one or two items and then remembered her pending phone call to Novick. She dialed his work number and used her time on hold to continue her list.

"Martha?"

"Hi, Mike."

His voice was shaken. "Are you okay? Hal Gardner told me about the attack. I'm so sorry, Martha, I didn't know…"

"Don't blame yourself, Mike. How were you to know? But as a matter of fact that's why I'm calling. I wanted to ask—"

"Wait, Martha. I know what you want to ask, but I don't think we should do this over the phone. Can you meet me for lunch?"

Martha was waiting in the restaurant lobby when Mike arrived. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before turning to the maitre d', who obviously knew who he was: "I have your booth in the back as you requested, Mr. Novick." In a few moments they were seated and Martha was perusing the menu ("I always get the same thing," shrugged Novick, "it saves time.") She quickly chose a salad and then, with the waiter out of earshot, Mike leaned forward.

"All right, Martha. I'm sorry to put you to this trouble, but I thought we'd better be careful. When I met with the President, he set up a fictitious meeting so that I'd have an excuse for going to the White House. I just didn't know if it would be safe for us to talk on the phone or not."

Uneasily, Martha thought back to Cardona's suspicion that their conversations in the Kremlin had been overheard. What if her apartment had been bugged as well? "You may be right, Mike. It's better not to take the chance."

Novick glanced around the restaurant before continuing. "President Gardner wanted to know if I told anyone about you going to Russia. I did. I told Gene Dunlap when I ran into him at a reception. Since he's Charles's attorney I assumed it would be okay, but according to Gardner there's a chance he's involved in this conspiracy."

"It fits, Mike. It explains how Charles was able to leak information from prison, and from what I've heard Mr. Dunlap's ethical reputation is not very good. I think he was probably assigned to defend Charles by whoever was directing this plan, and he tried to cover himself by having his partner handle most of it."

"But he's also very successful. He's one of the big go-to guys for criminal defense," Mike pointed out. "Why would he run the risk of endangering his career by getting involved in something like this? Unless he was forced into it."

"Blackmail?"

"It's possible. When you run with the Mafia…" Novick shrugged. "Who knows?"

The waiter arrived with their orders, putting a halt to the conversation for the moment. Starting her salad, Martha silently pondered the information Mike had given her. Her thoughts were interrupted by his next question: "Do you think Charles knew about this?"

"Maybe, but maybe not. If you mean do I think he leaked the information about my trip, no, I don't. Charles still cares enough about me that I don't believe he would have done anything to put me in danger. In fact, if he doesn't know and he finds out that his attorney is the one who was responsible—" Martha looked at Novick. "I think I'm going to have to talk to Charles again."

Martha's phone rang as she was leaving the restaurant; checking the display, she saw that it was Aaron.

"Aaron? How are you feeling?"

"A little tired, but basically okay. Just calling to check in. What do you want to do about dinner tonight?"

"I've been so busy I haven't had time to think about it. I just spent an hour having lunch with Mike Novick. I've got a lot to tell you."

"Do you want me to pick something up? Pizza okay?"

"That sounds fine. Aaron, I've been thinking. Is it possible that whoever got into my apartment could have bugged it? Could Agent Cardona check that for me?"

"I hadn't thought of that, but it is possible and we should check. I'll call him right now."

When Martha arrived back at her apartment she found it crowded with agents, including one who was changing the deadbolt on her door. "We're doing a sweep for listening devices, Mrs. Logan," Cardona explained. "Aaron called and discussed it with me and I agreed it was a good idea."

"Thank you, I'll feel a lot better when that's done. I'm going to unpack. Let me know when you're finished." Martha headed to her bedroom and got to work on her luggage. Noticing an unfamiliar overnight bag in the corner, she peeked into it and smiled as she recognized Aaron's T-shirt from the night before. She returned to her unpacking with a pleasant sense of anticipation; twenty minutes later Jon Cardona appeared at the bedroom door.

"We checked everything, Mrs. Logan, including your phones. We didn't find anything. The apartment's clean. I talked to the building supervisor and he says he did let your cleaning service in here a few days ago. He said he knew they were from the company you regularly use. That's why he let them in."

Martha frowned. "I do use a cleaning service, but I didn't ask them to come while I was gone."

"Then I'll call them and find out what happened. I'll get back to you tomorrow." Cardona and the other agents left shortly afterward. Having finished her chores, Martha began to consider the implications of the note. Was Charles threatening to talk? If so, why had he changed his mind when he'd previously refused to say anything? Did he know about the terrorist attack, or that she had been in Moscow when it happened? If he did, might he suspect that she had been the real target? Martha became lost in speculation. When her phone rang, she realized with a start that over an hour had gone by. It was Angie:

"Everything okay, Martha? Do you want me to come in tomorrow?"

"Do come tomorrow, Angie. Aaron seems to be doing well, but I've had quite a day." Martha explained her finding of the note the night before and the Service's subsequent investigation. "They haven't found anything yet."

"It's happened _again?_ That's unbelievable!"

"I know. By the way, you didn't ask the cleaning service to come while we were in Russia, did you?"

"No, because you were only supposed to be gone for five days."

"That's what I thought, but the building supervisor says they came a few days ago. That may have been when the note was left. Agent Cardona is looking into that."

"Martha, do you think you'll be okay tonight? I mean, I know the Service is guarding you, but are you nervous about being alone in the apartment?"

"I'm fine, Angie," Martha answered hastily. "Jon Cardona checked the entire place this afternoon. And," she hesitated, "Aaron's coming over later."

As always, Angie refrained from further questions: "Okay, then. See you at ten?"

"Ten is fine. We'll have a lot of financial stuff to do," Martha added, remembering Susan's news with an unpleasant jolt.

Aaron appeared at six o'clock with a pizza in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. "This place is near me and it's pretty good. I think you'll like it." He put the pizza in the oven to reheat.

"You eat there a lot, do you?" Martha started to tear lettuce for a salad.

"Quite a bit. I think there's a law that requires divorced men to eat pizza."

"I talked to my attorney today. She confirmed the divorce is final. She also told me not to expect anything much in the way of a settlement; the lawsuits have started and Charles is probably going to lose everything."

Aaron considered this for a moment. "That bother you?"

"No, not really. I have a job, I can earn enough money to live on. I can pay my rent and pay Angie. But I have to admit it would be nice to have more of a financial cushion." She shrugged. "But as I said to Susan, after everything that's happened in the last few months, money doesn't seem that important right now." She put her arms around Aaron, who smiled and answered, "Good."

Over dinner Martha repeated the information she'd gotten from Mike Novick at lunch. Aaron listened carefully, asking occasional questions. When she reached her decision to go back to talk with Charles, he frowned. "Do you have to do it? Couldn't the President send somebody else?"

"I know he'll talk to me. I doubt he'd talk to anybody else. Besides, if whoever sent me that note hears that I've been to see Charles, they won't get suspicious; they'll think I'm doing what I was told."

"Well, that's true. But I don't like it, Martha. I don't want you putting yourself in harm's way."

"After Russia, I don't think I have a choice. I can't think of any other way to find out what we need to know, and once we get that information I'll be safer."

With dinner finished and everything put away, they moved to the couch in the living room. "What did you do today?" she inquired.

"Errands and paperwork. Nothing very exciting. I still get tired pretty easily, so I took a nap this afternoon. I might go into the office tomorrow, just to see if there's anything urgent."

"Aaron, you're on sick leave!"

"It's either that or I sit around here all day tomorrow and drive you crazy."

She kissed him. "You won't drive me crazy, I promise. But Angie's coming at ten and we'll have a lot of work to do. You could watch TV if you want," she offered.

Aaron grimaced. "I don't watch much except the news and football. I'll see how I feel in the morning, but I would like to talk to Jon and see if he's found anything out." He took her hand. "Come over here."

Cautiously, she sat on his lap. "Am I hurting you?" she asked, putting her arms around him.

He pulled her closer. "No, Martha." He began to cover her face with kisses; she closed her eyes and teasingly brushed his mouth with parted lips. Aaron responded by moving lower and trailing slow kisses across her neck and chest. With a gasp of pleasure, she cupped her hand behind his head, encouraging him to continue. He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. When they finally broke the kiss, he held her close for a moment. "I love you, Martha. I want to show you how much…" he suddenly realized that she was crying. "Is something wrong?"

She shook her head. "I'm so happy right now. When I think that I almost lost you," her voice was thick with emotion, "it scares me. I don't ever want you to get hurt again."

He stroked her hair. "I've got a desk job now, remember? I don't expect anything more dangerous than a paper cut." He looked at her, concerned. "I promise I'm not going to take any chances. Don't worry."

Martha smiled in response, wiped her tears away and made an effort to pull herself together. "I think maybe we should get off this couch and move to the bedroom."

"I think maybe you're right."

As they moved down the hall, she took his hand in hers. "I found your overnight bag this afternoon."

"Well, you did tell me to leave my toothbrush."


	14. Chapter 14

The alarm startled both of them out of sleep. "I'll get it," she whispered, managing to reach the doze button without shifting him. She closed her eyes against the morning sunlight; Aaron sighed and buried his head more deeply into her shoulder.

Ten minutes later the alarm split the silence yet again. "Why do we have to do this?" he groaned.

"Unless we want to shock Angie, I think we should be up and dressed by the time she gets here." She smiled. "I always thought of you as a morning person. Was I wrong?"

"No, I am. Usually." He kissed her shoulder. "But this is a special occasion. Not to mention the jet lag, and we didn't exactly sleep for twelve hours straight."

Martha chuckled, snuggling closer to him. "No." They had awakened in the middle of the night, made love a second time, then talked for a while before falling back to sleep. She closed her eyes and relaxed against him, letting her mind roam over her mental list for the day. Besides her conference with Angie she would need to make arrangements to meet with Charles, something she was not looking forward to. This thought fully awakened her, and she gave Aaron a gentle poke in the ribs. "I'll make the coffee, but you'll have to come out to the kitchen to get it."

He smiled sleepily. "Okay. I'll make breakfast if you make the coffee."

"Deal." She kissed him. "See you in ten minutes."

True to his word, Aaron appeared in ten minutes clad in T-shirt and boxers. He headed straight for the coffee maker and took his first sip with a sigh of relief. "I got so sick of tea in Russia. The only coffee St. Basil's had was instant, and it was awful." He turned to rummage in the refrigerator and then checked her kitchen cabinets. "Where's the vanilla?"

Martha got it for him. "What're you making?"

"French toast. It's kind of my thing. Every time my family gets together at the holidays I'm the one who makes breakfast."

Martha was charmed by the idea of Aaron patiently cooking breakfast for a squadron of relatives. "Well, let me watch and then next time I can help. Is this a family recipe?"

"No, it's something I got from a guy who used to run a diner in my home town. I loved his French toast, I used to order it all the time. I finally pestered him into giving me the recipe. He used vanilla. The other thing is you have to soak the bread for a while and then cook it slowly. Most people just dunk it and fry it too fast."

"But if you've got a bunch of people waiting for their French toast, what do you do?"

"Start it early and hold it in the oven on low. If you do it right, it won't dry out."

Martha thought for a moment. "So, you soak the bread while opening your Christmas presents."

"Exactly, and then the kids play with their stuff and the adults drink coffee and talk, and I cook." He grinned.

"I haven't had a Christmas like that in about a hundred years. It sounds wonderful." Martha sighed.

"Then we'll go. You can come with me if you want."

"I will. I definitely will, Aaron." She watched as he finished mixing the ingredients and poured the liquid over the bread slices.

"Now it just needs to sit for a few minutes—" he turned from the counter and found himself staring straight into Martha's eyes. Her nearness took his breath away, and for a moment he searched for words, any words, to tell her how he felt. Giving up, he pulled her close and felt her arms slide around his neck. They held each other tightly for a minute and then he pulled back far enough to look at her.

"Angie told me how you spoke up to the Gardners so you could stay with me in Moscow. That was when I knew how you really felt about me. If she hadn't told me I don't think I would have had the nerve …" he paused. "I haven't asked someone to go to bed with me since Diane left. I just couldn't."

His words confirmed what Martha had sensed since she'd first heard about his divorce from Angie. She pressed her face against his neck to hide the tears in her eyes. "But you did, and I'm so glad."

"Have I told you you look gorgeous in the morning? Because you do."

"You don't look half bad yourself," she whispered into his ear.

He raised an eyebrow. "What time did you say Angie was getting here?"

"Ten, and we still have to shower." She stroked his cheek. "You'll have to restrain yourself for another twelve hours."

He chuckled, and kissed her. "All right, but not a minute more. I'll shower first."

"Could I come with you, Aaron?"

His smile grew wider. "I think I'm getting mixed messages here," he said teasingly.

"Well, you are," she confessed, laughing. "I want to get that bandage off and take a look at your incision, but I have other reasons for wanting to get into the shower with you."

When Angie arrived she was not at all surprised to see Aaron still in the apartment and eating breakfast. She closed her eyes and inhaled the smell of cooking. "I see you still make that French toast, Aaron. Boy, does that take me back. It's like being home again."

"You want a piece? There's some left."

"I won't say no, not if you made it." She accepted a filled plate and sat down. "How are you feeling?" she inquired.

"A lot better, thanks. I think I'm going to run into the office today." He anticipated her accusing glare: "Don't bother, Martha already said it. But what else am I supposed to do? You guys are busy today anyway, and after being in the hospital I'm two weeks behind. This is still a new job for me. I'd just feel better if I had an idea of what was going on."

"I'll call Jon Cardona and tell him to kick you out if you stay too long," Martha threatened. "At least try to see the doctor today, will you?"

"I'll do that, I promise." Aaron got up from the table. "Let me get this cleaned up so you can get to work. Martha, maybe you'd better tell Angie what you told me yesterday about your divorce settlement."

Thus reminded, Martha quickly repeated what Susan had told her the day before: "By the time the lawsuits are over, everything we owned will probably be gone," she finished. "Susan's working on protecting a few things that are mine exclusively; Charles never held title to them. It won't be much, though."

"Does that mean you'd be willing to rethink the speaking tour?" Hearing this, Aaron turned around from where he'd been standing at the sink. With one eye on him, Martha answered, "Yes. I think I'm going to have to."

"Speaking tour? What speaking tour?" Aaron inquired. Though his tone was neutral, Martha somehow gathered that he wasn't in favor of the idea. Angie seemed to share her thought as she carefully replied, "It's something I suggested to Martha before we left for Russia. She's gotten a lot of invitations to appear on the West Coast and a couple in the Midwest. If we string them together and schedule them as a tour, it would save her time and travel expenses as well. It wouldn't take that long, maybe two weeks."

Aaron took a moment to consider this, then answered: "Make sure you let Jon Cardona know. He'd need time to make arrangements for you." He returned to his cleanup without further comment.

Martha quickly changed the subject. "I told you about this note yesterday, didn't I?" She handed Angie the anonymous message she'd found the night of their return.

"Yes, you did. Where did you say it was?" Martha pointed out the bowl, shifted from its original place on the mantel. Angie reread the note and then looked back at Martha. "Do you know what it's about?"

"No, but I need to find out. I'm going to talk to Charles again and see if I can get him to tell me what's going on."

"Did the cleaning service leave this?"

"We don't know yet. Aaron said he'd talk to Jon today."

"I'll ask him this morning. I'm going to run home first and then go in to see him." Aaron put away the last dish as he spoke. "I'll go get my bag." With a muttered excuse, Martha pushed her chair back and hurried to the bedroom after him.

"Aaron, is everything all right?"

Biting back an impulse to answer "no," he forced himself to smile instead. "Everything's fine, sweetheart." He put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. "It's fine," he repeated, hoping to reassure himself. "Let me ask around and find out what's going on, you work on your schedule with Angie, and we'll talk some more tonight."

"I want you to stay here again tonight," she whispered. Her directness completely disarmed him; she followed her request with a kiss on his parted lips that nearly made him fall at her feet. "You will, won't you?"

"You mean you're not sick of me yet?" He tried to ask it jokingly, but a note of anxiety in his voice gave him away. She dropped her seductive approach abruptly and laid her head on his chest.

"I'll never get sick of you. I want to spend as much time with you as I can. You'll be going back to work soon, I've probably got to do this speaking tour… we're going to be apart more than either of us wants. You don't think I actually want to leave you for two weeks, do you? Angie asked me about it before we left and I said no. But with my financial situation the way it is now—"

"I know, Martha. I understand. I'm overreacting." He felt a pang of guilt. "I know what it's like to be worried about money. After everything else that's happened, it's just ridiculous that you should have to deal with this."

"Well, it's not all bad. As Dr. Young pointed out, it's probably good for me to earn my own money. Psychiatrists love to set goals for their patients," she added dryly.

He grinned. "Am I a goal? What does Dr. Young say about me?"

"Oh, I haven't told her about you yet. I'm saving you up as a special treat." She twinkled at him.

Aaron started to laugh, overcome with a feeling of well-being. "If you want me to stay tonight, I have a request."

"Anything you want." She hugged him close.

"No alarm tomorrow. I have a feeling we're going to have a late night tonight."

Aaron strolled into his office about two hours later, wincing at the sight of paperwork stacked three inches thick on top of his desk. As he stood contemplating this bureaucratic nightmare he was distracted by an exclamation:

"Sir! Agent Pierce!" He turned and saw Mitchell staring at him. "Sir, aren't you on sick leave?"

"I am, but I'm coming back next week. I thought I'd come in and see what's going on. Looks like a good thing I did. What's all this?"

"Well, it's lots of things. A draft agenda for the next recruitment meeting, an overhaul of protocols for hiring and firing…" Mitchell's voice trailed off as he saw Aaron wince. "Agent Pierce, I was wondering if you could use an assistant. I mean, for some of this stuff so you don't have to deal with it."

"Well, I might." Aaron saw the appeal in Mitchell's eyes. "I mean, I definitely could. You could help me out quite a bit. Why don't you sort out the urgent stuff for me and I'll go talk to Agent Cardona for a minute. There was a problem a few days ago I need to discuss with him." Leaving a very enthusiastic junior agent behind him, Aaron headed two doors down to Cardona's office.

"Aaron!" Jon popped to his feet, grinning. "It's great to see you, but what are you doing here?"

"You know me, Jon. I can't sit and watch TV all day; I'd go nuts. I've got to see the doctor today anyway and I wanted a chance to talk to you away from Martha." Aaron's unconscious switch to first-name terms did not escape Cardona, but he let it pass without comment. "Did you talk to the cleaning service yet?"

"We did. They say they got a phone call requesting service four days before you got back, allegedly from Mrs. Logan's assistant. I sent somebody over there to check and the call is documented in their computer system. The person they sent over was a new hire and he hasn't picked up his paycheck. Nobody seems to know where he is."

Aaron got to his feet, frowning. "They know where she lives. They know who her assistant is. They know what cleaning service she uses…" He traded looks with Jon. "They've got to have somebody in the building."

The other agent nodded, his shoulders slumped. "It looks that way. Damn it, Aaron. I've never been in a situation like this before. She's not in the White House anymore; we just don't have the home ground advantage that we're used to having. She picked a good place to live, but it sure isn't the safe house we thought it was. I'm just thinking out loud here, but suppose we made arrangements to move her back? Even temporarily?"

"She wouldn't go." Aaron shook his head. "Even if she would there's no guarantee the White House is safe either. Remember Cummings? And Adams? No matter where she goes, anybody could be after her. And they haven't really _done_ anything, they're just… watching. It's like they're keeping her in reserve for something. It worries me, Jon."

"I know. It worries me too." Cardona's normally cheerful expression was grim.

"If we could find out who their contact is in Martha's building, that might be a help." Aaron made this suggestion cautiously, not wanting to override Cardona's authority, and was pleased to see him perk up at the idea: "We'll do a background check on everybody there. Keep it quiet, you think?"

"As dark as you can, we don't want to scare them away. Once we know who it is we can put a tracer on them. It might be another lead to whoever's behind this thing." Aaron hesitated for a moment and then added, "I've got another piece of bad news for you. She's planning a speaking tour." He nodded at Jon's horrified expression, which mirrored his own reaction to Martha's announcement. The Agent Pierce side of his personality had wanted to talk her out of it, but he'd instantly realized that was not an option. He hoped he'd been successful in hiding his conflict from Martha, and had the fleeting thought that being her lover was proving to be more problematic than he'd anticipated.

"_Tour?_ To where?"

Aaron shrugged. "West Coast. Chicago. They think it'll take about two weeks."

"Oh, Lord." Cardona groaned.

Out of necessity, Martha decided to postpone her meeting with her now ex-husband for a few days in favor of an intensive review of her finances and speaking schedule. A quick phone call to Joshua Tenney, in which she was careful not to make any mention of his partner, revealed that Charles had been transferred to a nearby federal prison pending his final sentencing. Tenney, though more than a little surprised, was happy to make arrangements for her visit; two days later she found herself undergoing the most intensive weapons search she'd ever endured prior to meeting with Charles in the visiting area. _This makes airport searches look like kid stuff,_ she thought grimly.

Sooner than she'd anticipated she was staring at him through bulletproof glass with other visitors seated to her left and right. Martha, who had expected more privacy for their talk, realized that she would have to proceed with caution; picking up the telephone headset she asked quietly, "How are you doing, Charles?"

He gave her a look of disgust. "How do you think?" Dressed in prison coveralls and with his hair slightly longer than usual, he looked unfamiliar. Though his features had not changed, Martha felt no real sense of recognition when she saw him. _Was I married to this man?_ she found herself thinking confusedly before pulling herself together.

She leaned forward: "Charles, there's something I have to tell you. Do you remember that bowl and the note I showed you the last time I saw you?" She waited for his nod. "I got another note a few days ago. I'd been out of town and found it under the bowl the night I came back. Your friends left me a message. I probably can't show it to you here, but I can tell you what it says: '_Tell Charles Logan he needs to keep his mouth shut. For his sake and for yours._'"

He looked at her, startled. "They came to _you?_"

"Yes, Charles. They're coming after me now, in more ways than one. Did you hear about the attack in Moscow? I don't know if you get access to the news here…"

"They let us watch it. And yes, it was all over the news. Why were you there?"

"Hal Gardner asked me to come along to help him out with the Suvarovs. It turns out Russian Intelligence is pretty good at putting the pieces together. They know you gave the motorcade information to the terrorists. Let's just say that relations between America and Russia have been a little tense the last few months." She gave him a tight smile. "Anyway, when the attack started I was standing next to Anya Suvarov and she overheard what the terrorists were saying. The Suvarovs weren't the primary target and neither were the Gardners. It was me. They wanted me taken alive." She watched him carefully, unsure what his reaction would be; he paled and his hands tightened on the edge of the counter. "It turns out they were members of a terrorist cell from Central Asia. Nobody knew I was going until less than two days before we left, so I think somebody must have leaked the information to them. We think we know who it was."

"It wasn't me." His answer came quickly. For the first time during their interview he'd dropped his defensive attitude. "It wasn't me, Marty. I swear it. I learned my lesson last time. I haven't given any information to anyone since the last time I saw you."

"Then what is this about? Why are they trying to turn me into their messenger?"

He stared off into space for a moment. "I was angry. I've lost everything I worked for all these years. By the time everyone gets through suing me, I won't have anything left. I've lost you. And _they_," he spat the word, "they haven't suffered at all. They dumped it all on me. Then I heard about your… new relationship." His eyes bored into her. "They really got a kick out of telling me, they called it 'ironic.' That was the last straw. I said I wanted support from them. They owed me protection. I told them I'd spill what I knew unless they made sure I'd be taken care of financially. An offshore bank account, someplace safe to live when I get out of jail… it wasn't all that much. What I wanted, they could afford easily."

"And this is their answer. They're using me to get back at you." He flinched.

"I don't want them using you like this, Marty. I don't."

"You're playing with fire, Charles. You can't trust these people. If you start threatening them something's going to happen." She paused. "As for my 'new relationship,' as you call it… yes, it's true. It didn't have anything to do with my decision to divorce you, and that's all I'm going to say. I don't want to discuss it with you." She moved to get up from her seat, but he called her back.

"Wait. You said you knew who leaked the information about Moscow. Who was it?"

She hesitated. "I'm not sure I should tell you, Charles."

"Please. I need to know. If it could help keep you safe, I want to know."

"Your attorney. We think it was Gene Dunlap."

"Oh, God. That figures." Logan said this almost to himself.

"Charles, it's being investigated; Hal Gardner has the Attorney General working on it. If you cooperate, if there's anything you can tell us, it might help."

Logan hesitated, opened his mouth—

"Time's up." A prison guard was standing behind Logan, ready to take him back to his cell. "Come back," he mouthed quickly and stood up. Martha felt a sudden chill as she watched him walk away, escorted by the guard.


	15. Chapter 15

(This is the first of a few Christmas chapters I wrote for this series. They add to the plot and characters, so I decided to include them here.)

Aaron Pierce was not only outnumbered, he was outgunned. Under relentless assault, he suddenly realized that there was no way out; his look of appeal to Angie was met with a glance that said clearly, _don't look at me, pal. I can't help you with this one._

"Martha," he tried again mildly, "I'm not really comfortable with this. What will people think?"

"I don't care what they think. You don't have to worry about being stared at; the place will be packed anyway, and most of the other guests won't pay us any attention. President Gardner knows about us, and he won't give us a hard time. Your co-workers all know. Who cares what anybody else thinks." Martha gave him a mischievous look. "The invitation clearly says 'Martha Logan _and guest_.' You are my guest."

"You could take Mike. He's better at this sort of thing than I am anyway."

"Aaron, I want to take you, not Mike." She squeezed his hand. "I thought you might like to go; you know the White House always looks wonderful at Christmas. It would be fun to sort of show that we're officially together now." She eyed him appraisingly and then added for good measure, "We don't have to stay late. Think of it as business if you want to. This party is my best chance to talk to the President about the Moscow attack without making anybody suspicious. I need to find out what's going on with Gene Dunlap, and I can't just make an appointment without giving a reason. Hal went to a lot of trouble to set up a fake committee meeting as a cover when he questioned Mike."

"You're going to talk to him at the party?" Aaron looked doubtful. "He won't have time."

"I don't think it'll be that difficult, he probably wants to talk to me too. It should only take five minutes or so."

Aaron's only option was graceful acceptance, and he knew it. "All right, Martha, we'll go. You're right, it'll be nice to be together. You'll have to find me somebody to talk to, though." He kissed her forehead; as she hugged him in delight, he looked past her shoulder to Angie and grimaced.

"I know you don't want to do this, Aaron, but it's important. You know how Washington operates. Parties aren't just parties here, they're where the real work gets done. For Martha to keep getting speaking gigs she has to be seen and she has to network. Being seen at the White House will be good for her; being seen with a date at the White House, even better. It's all about appearances."

"Where'd you learn this stuff, Angie?"

"The Pentagon, where do you think?" They dodged a shopper loaded with packages and headed for the department store at the end of the shopping center.

"This is why I'd never go into politics," Aaron grumbled. "I hate trying to talk to people I don't know. And I hate ulterior motives."

"I know, but you'd better just face it: it's something you'll have to put up with. Not all the time, but sometimes. You both have demanding careers and you're both going to have to compromise. You're not going to be home at five every night, are you? She'll have to deal with that."

"Do you and Marie compromise?"

"When I was with General Mason, I wasn't home all that much. Crazy hours, getting called out of town on short notice… it was tough for her. I promised her I'd take early retirement, and I kept my promise. That's how it works."

Aaron looked at her, interested. "Do you miss the Pentagon?"

Angie shrugged. "Sometimes. It was organized and chaotic at the same time, and I liked that. It was a lot more social, with a lot of people around. And I never had to think about my health benefits or how long I'd have a job. On the other hand, I really like working with Martha." She grinned. "So I guess the lesson is not to be afraid to try new stuff, even if you don't really want to. I'm starting to sound like one of those motivational speakers. I'd better shut up."

Aaron laughed. "Okay, then tell me what I'm supposed to get Martha for Christmas. I haven't got a clue what she wants."

For the Gardners' Christmas reception, Martha decided to wear the formal black dress she'd taken to Russia. As she'd hoped, Aaron's eyes lit up in appreciation when he saw her. "You remembered!"

"How could I forget? I was wearing this when you told me you loved me." She kissed him. "Let's go. We don't want to be late." They made their way to the limousine waiting downstairs. As they got in, Aaron realized that although he'd been to many such functions in the course of his work as an agent, he'd never attended one as a guest. As they drew closer to the White House he mentioned this to Martha.

"So how does it feel?" She smiled at him, taking his hand.

"A little odd," he confessed. "I keep checking the traffic to make sure everything's okay. Just habit, I guess."

"I know this wasn't something you really wanted to do. Thank you for coming with me, Aaron. I know it sounds silly, but I want to show you off. I'm proud of you." She gasped and laughed as Aaron pulled her into his arms. "I'm proud of you, too," he whispered and kissed her just as the limo slowed to a stop. One of the attendants opened the car door, but Martha ignored it long enough to give Aaron an extra kiss. They untangled themselves, slid out of the car and headed up the red carpet into the reception.

"I think we just made quite an entrance," Martha whispered mischievously. Aaron marveled at her lack of self-consciousness, feeling as though his face must be several shades of red: "I think we did too," he whispered back. Fortunately for his peace of mind, he quickly realized that the party as was heavily attended as Martha had predicted, and they immediately blended into the crowd. Martha took his arm to keep from getting separated. "First we have to find the President."

"I think the reception line was set up in the East Room," he responded. As they followed a crowd of new arrivals, Martha felt a tap on her shoulder; looking around, she was stunned to see Jane Hughes.

"Jane! It's wonderful to see you!"

"It's good to see you too, Martha. Are you okay? I heard you were in Moscow during that terrorist attack." Jane looked concerned.

"I was there, but I wasn't hurt. Aaron was. It was pretty scary there for a while, but everything's okay now." She indicated Aaron, standing next to her: "Let me introduce you. Jane, this is my friend Aaron Pierce. Aaron, Jane Hughes. She helped me with my apartment when I moved—remember? The one I told you had all the good decorating ideas." She grinned at Jane. "I didn't know you were going to be here."

"Last minute invitation from this guy I've been dating. You might know him, George Friedman. He's a political advisor."

"I know the name. I think President Keeler used to work with him."

"Right. Well, he's been meeting with President Gardner a lot lately, I think to help plan his reelection campaign, and he got an invitation to the reception tonight. So here I am."

"We were just going to the reception line. Come with us?"

"I have to find George first. I think he's schmoozing somewhere. I'll catch you later." She flashed a grin. "Nice to meet you, Aaron." She disappeared into the crowd.

"She used to be married to a lobbyist. They got divorced last year," Martha explained to Aaron as they resumed their progress to the East Room.

"She must have a weakness for political types then, considering she's dating a campaign advisor."

"There's not a lot of choice in this town. Pretty much everyone you meet is bound to be involved in politics somehow." They were now in the reception line. Martha smiled and waved to Agent Mitchell, standing near the entrance to the East Room; Mitchell's eyes widened as he took in Aaron's presence next to her. She suddenly felt self-conscious, but tried to pass it off with a quip: "Well, there's at least one person who didn't know we were an item." She bit her lip, fearing that she'd put Aaron in a difficult position.

Looking at her, Aaron suddenly remembered how lucky they were to be alive and together after the events of the past few months. As they neared the head of the line, he leaned over to her and whispered, "I am with the most beautiful woman in the room, and we are going to dance tonight, and we are going to stay as late as you want. I don't care who sees us or what they think. You're more important to me than anyone else will ever be." He saw the glint of tears in her eyes for just a moment, pulled himself together and turned to face the President.

A very tired but happy couple returned to Martha's apartment later that night. Martha groaned in relief as she kicked off her heels. "I can barely walk," she laughed, "but it was worth it."

Aaron sat her down on the couch, picked up her feet and started rubbing them. "What did President Gardner tell you?"

"Oh, right. Well, we didn't have a whole lot of time to talk, but it seems that once they started investigating Dunlap they found lots of evidence that he's been cheating on his taxes. He probably had help from those financial criminals he's been defending. He owes the government hundreds of thousands of dollars – maybe even millions. That certainly would make him ripe for blackmail if somebody found out what he'd been doing."

"But they haven't arrested him yet?"

"No. The investigation isn't finished and they're trying to put together a deal to get him to tell what he knows and who he's working with. Hal made me promise not to say a word." She smiled. "But I know you won't tell."

Aaron smiled back at her. "Anything else?"

"He talked about the reelection campaign a bit. The rumor is Wayne Palmer may be running for President."

Aaron raised his eyebrows. "He doesn't have a whole lot of political experience. But if he does decide to run…" he looked at Martha, who finished his sentence: "Hal Gardner won't have a chance." They sat in silence for a few moments; then Martha asked, "Aaron, did you enjoy yourself? Did you have a good time?"

"I feel like—" Aaron hesitated, then finished, "like Cinderella, if that doesn't sound too strange. I can't believe I had such a good time."

Visualizing Aaron as Cinderella, Martha giggled and curled up in his lap. "That must make me the fairy godmother then. I do have to say, it was really nice of you to dance with Jane. She thinks you're wonderful."

"I don't know what that guy who invited her was thinking. Leaving her alone all night like that, that's just rude." Aaron shook his head. "I don't care how busy he is, he ought to know better than to treat his date like that."

Martha hugged him. "I know, she looked really annoyed with him. I don't think that relationship is going to last."

"Not like us." Their eyes met. After a moment Aaron reached behind Martha and began to unzip her dress. She kissed him and whispered, "I thought you were tired."

He grinned: "Not _that_ tired. I'm not ready to turn into a pumpkin yet."


	16. Chapter 16

Martha cautiously reached out to the bedside table and picked up her watch. Squinting at the glowing dial, she estimated it was ten to three local time. In contrast to her peacefully sleeping lover, she'd dozed restlessly through the night; she knew she had a tendency to overanticipate stressful situations (when she'd first started seeing Dr. Young, the less polite term _obsess_ had been bruited about), and her old bad habits were kicking in. She was tempted to look for her antianxiety pills, but wrapped her arms around Aaron instead and tried to match her breathing to his.

_What if his mother doesn't like me?_ she wondered. _What if his entire family doesn't like me? Is Diane going to start stalking us? Okay, now I've really gone off the deep end…_

Her conversation with Angie a few days before had triggered her current state of mind, she decided. As they'd been sorting clothes for her trip to Texas, she'd noticed that Angie was selecting several ensembles slightly more glamorous than she'd thought would be necessary for a family Christmas get-together. "Angie, I don't want to underdress for this trip, but I don't want to overdress either. Is there going to be some sort of function Aaron didn't tell me about?"

"No." Angie had the grace to look guilty. "It's just that I want you to look really good. You know, impress Aaron's family. And other reasons."

"Is the 'other reason' named Diane?" Martha took Angie's hesitation as an answer. "Aaron told me about his divorce when he was in the hospital."

Angie answered indirectly. "I never could stand her." This was the most negative comment Martha had ever heard her make about anyone. "Did you go to high school with her?" she asked cautiously.

"Yes." Angie sighed. "The truth is I never did think it was a good idea for Aaron to marry her, but I didn't feel I could speak up. It was about the time I broke up with his brother, and I didn't think my input would mean much."

"What was it about her you didn't like?"

"It's hard to put your finger on it. She was the sort of person who was always sweet if she wanted to make a good impression, but around people whose opinion didn't matter to her she could be quite different. I wouldn't say she treated me like dirt, but even when it looked like we might become sisters-in-law she never gave a damn about me." Angie thought further. "She always made me feel… uncomfortable. Does that make any sense?"

"It makes a lot of sense. I've known plenty of people like that."

"She enjoyed being queen of her own little ant hill, and she was sweet to Aaron as long as she had what she wanted. But when they moved to Washington and she wasn't top dog any more, it was another story. She was a nobody there and she couldn't stand that."

"She doesn't sound too nice," Martha commented.

"I'll give her credit, she's been a good mother to Nate. She would've left a lot sooner if it hadn't been for him. Aaron worked long hours and she kept things running while he was gone. She's organized." Angie said this with grudging respect.

"And she still lives there? In this town that you're from?"

"As far as I know, yes. This guy she left Aaron for, they broke up about a year ago. I wouldn't put it past Diane to see if she could snag Aaron again."

"Well, we both know that's not going to happen," Martha said flatly.

"And now you know why I'm pulling these outfits." Angie grinned.

The next thing Martha was aware of was the telephone ringing and sunlight illuminating the room. Aaron groped for the phone and spoke sleepily into the receiver.

"Hello… yeah, Bill, we're here… we're not up yet. Give us a few. I'll call you back when we're ready to drive over." He hung up and turned to Martha, who was shivering. "It gets a little chilly here overnight," he observed, pulling her closer.

"Mmm." She rested her head on his chest, closing her eyes. "Does your brother want us over there?"

"ASAP. I'm quoting him." Aaron chuckled, then shook Martha gently. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Not really." She yawned, saw the look of concern on his face and added, "The truth is I was having anxiety attacks all night."

He looked puzzled: "Why?"

"Aaron, do you think your family's going to like me?"

"Yes, I do," he said seriously. "My mother got along really well with Diane, and they still do volunteer work together. But after the divorce she figured out that just because she liked her daughter-in-law it didn't guarantee we'd stay married. Last year my mother told me that all she wanted was for me to find someone who really loved me." He looked at her for a moment. "That doesn't mean they'll get you, I mean where you're coming from. Our backgrounds aren't the same, there's no getting around it. But as long as they see we're happy, they'll be happy. I promise you that." He kissed her.

They showered and dressed quickly; as they were stepping out the door of their motel room, Aaron turned back. "Can't forget this." He ran his hand under the pillow and pulled out his gun. Martha nodded silently in response. Knowing Aaron was with her in a professional capacity cast a slight chill over their holiday. As they walked to the car Aaron waved to the motel's proprietor, an elderly man who knew Aaron by name: "Morning, Mr. Wynn. Everything okay?"

"Everything's quiet, Aaron. Night shift didn't report anything."

"Great, thanks a bunch. We'll be at my brother's if you need to reach us. I don't know when we'll be back."

"Just call me when you leave. You've got the number?"

"Yes, sir, I do. Thanks again for your help." Martha added her thanks with a warm smile and a handshake; Mr. Wynn ducked his head to her. "Ma'am, it's a pleasure."

As they got into the car, Martha gave Aaron an admiring look. "So this is how you got Jon Cardona to stay in Washington with his family?"

A corner of Aaron's mouth turned up as he started the car. "Now you know why I picked this motel. I've known Mr. Wynn for years. His kids and I were in football together. I talked to the chief of police, too; he knows you're here and he's got his men keeping an eye on things. One good thing about a small town, strangers stand out. I don't think anybody's likely to follow us here, but if they did we'd know about it the minute they showed up."

"I'm starting to feel like Harrison Ford in _Witness_."

Aaron shook with laughter. "We're not _that_ far behind the times, Martha."

Ten minutes later they pulled into a long driveway. As Martha noted the "Pierce" on the mailbox, her heart started to pound. Just as her hands turned cold in her lap, Aaron stopped the car at the back of the house and the car was surrounded by a clutch of welcoming relatives. Martha quickly ransacked her memory in the hope of matching names to faces: The only man in the group, with a weathered face and red hair similar to Aaron's, had to be his brother Bill; the older woman in the background, slowest to leave the house, was clearly their mother. The two adult women present were Aaron's widowed sister Barbara ("Her husband was killed in a car accident at Fort Bliss," Aaron had explained) and sister-in-law Ann. The kids, Martha decided, could be sorted out later.

"Aaron!" Bill had embraced Aaron and was pounding him on the back. "Good to see you! And you must be—"

"Martha Powell. Nice to meet you, Bill." Sensing Bill's surprise, she added, "My legal name is still Martha Powell Logan, but I'm going back to my maiden name." She found herself introduced to both Ann and Barbara and then they were swept into the kitchen. "Martha, this is my mother, Gertrude Pierce," Aaron added hastily.

Taking Mrs. Pierce's hand, Martha found herself inspected by a pair of friendly but extremely sharp eyes. "How do you do, Mrs. Pierce, it's nice to meet you," she managed. She was reassured by Gertrude Pierce's pleasant expression, but was conscious that she was still very much under inspection. She was sure her reputation from the news media had preceded her to Texas, and wondered if the Pierces thought Aaron was dating a refugee from a mental institution. Bill and Barbara were clearly both younger than Aaron, and for the first time Martha felt apprehensive about the fact that she was older.

"Shame Nathan couldn't be here to meet you," she heard Bill saying.

"Yes, it is a shame," Martha responded. "I know he was trying to get leave, but his chances didn't look that good. We didn't hear anything before we left Washington. I know Aaron's disappointed, but we'll get together with him on his next leave."

They were now in the living room, the centerpiece of which was a Christmas tree decorated with homemade ornaments and with a modest pile of presents underneath it. Martha found herself flashing back to the tree she and Charles had had the previous year. Her depression had been worsening, and she couldn't muster the energy or the interest to work on it; rather than do without a tree, Charles had turned the project over to a team of professionals. The result looked as if robots had decorated it: spectacular but soulless. Martha found herself warming to the Pierces. "That's a beautiful tree," she commented to Ann.

"The kids decorated it. Didn't you, guys? Barbara brought her kids over and we made a party of it." Ann smiled at the five children hanging back in the doorway. The oldest, a girl who looked about seventeen, was the only one who didn't smile in response; her face was set in a sullen downturn. "Don't you want to come say hi to your Uncle Aaron, Jennifer?" Ann added somewhat anxiously.

Jennifer glanced across the room to where Aaron and Bill were chatting. "Maybe later," she said curtly and abruptly left the room. Looking embarrassed, Barbara and Ann glanced at each other. "She misses Nathan," Barbara explained. "He was more of an older brother to her than a cousin. When she heard he wasn't going to make it home she got really upset."

Ann nodded in agreement: "She's been giving us fits, and lately it's gotten worse. I don't know what's come over her. Do you have any tips for dealing with teenagers, Martha?"

"I've never had any children." In an attempt to soften the bluntness of her answer, Martha hastily added, "We tried. I got pregnant twice, miscarried twice. In those days fertility treatments weren't as advanced as now. We thought about adopting, but right about that time Charles's political career started to take off and he never talked about it again." Her explanation was followed by an awkward pause, which was interrupted a moment later when Bill called across the room, "Martha, I hear you're interested in horses? Aaron and I are going out to the stables. Come with us?"

On her way back from the bathroom later in the morning Martha passed a half-open door in the upstairs hallway. Looking in, she saw Jennifer slumped on the bed hugging a pillow in the classic pose of the alienated teenager. Hesitantly, she tapped on the door. "Hey. Want to come downstairs?"

"Not really." Jennifer rolled over and glared at Martha. "Did my mother send you up here?"

"No. I was just coming back from the bathroom and, I don't know, you looked unhappy. Like you could use somebody to talk to."

"I guess you'd know. You're the 'troubled former First Lady,' right?"

"That's me." Martha chose to ignore the girl's sarcasm. "If your problem is that nobody listens to you, believe me, I know where you're coming from."

Jennifer's gaze sharpened, and she sat upright. "That scarf you're wearing… where'd you get it? It's this season's design, right?"

"Yes. I bought it right before we left Washington." Martha sat down on the bed. "Are you interested in fashion?"

"Well, yeah. Not that I'm any good or anything. But I'm interested." Jennifer fished a crumpled newspaper from under the bed. "I get the _New York Times_ every week to check the fashion section. And I did a portfolio for my fall project, but I got a crappy grade. I might as well not have bothered."

"Can I take a look?"

Jennifer shrugged. "Sure." Martha flipped through the pages with a growing sense of surprise: "This is good! Some of this is at least as well designed as what I've seen in the stores."

Jennifer pointed silently to a C scrawled in red ink on the cover. Martha stared at her. "Your teacher gave you a C? On what basis?"

"I don't know. She just didn't like it, I guess." Jennifer scowled. "She kept wanting me to design stuff that looked like house dresses. I told her I wasn't going to prostitute myself."

Martha kept a straight face with difficulty. "Don't you think that might have had something to do with your grade?"

The girl gave a quick shrug. "Might've."

"Well, listen. One thing I know something about is fashion. I know good design when I see it and this is it. Don't sell yourself short, okay? Why don't you apply to design school?"

"Because my parents don't want me to." The girl sighed. "They want me to study accounting or something, so I can make a living."

Martha was struck by an idea. "I'm going to be back in Texas in a month or so. I've got to make a speech in Dallas. Could you meet me there?"

"In _Dallas?_" Jennifer snorted. "We barely make it to El Paso twice a year."

Martha bit a fingernail, thinking. "Let me work on this. I don't want to promise anything, but I have an idea."

"Okay, sure." Jennifer stared at her hopefully. "Whatever you say."

"In the meantime, why don't you come downstairs with me? I know your Uncle Aaron wants to see you."

Ann looked stunned when Jennifer docilely followed Martha into the living room. She sat on an ottoman next to Aaron and started to talk to him about Nathan; Martha followed a savory smell into the kitchen, where Mrs. Pierce was chopping vegetables. "Can I help?" she asked.

"If you'd like to, sure. We're making chili for lunch and extra for the shut-ins in the neighborhood. Our church delivers frozen meals for them every two weeks. It's Aaron's favorite recipe," she added with a smile.

Martha immediately found herself wondering what Aaron thought of _her_ chili, then told herself to knock it off. "I'll be happy to help, Mrs. Pierce." She rolled up her sleeves and tried to look enthused about chopping onions.

Martha had to admit that the chili was delicious. She was speculating on her chances of getting the recipe from Gertrude Pierce and helping to wash up after lunch when she overheard Barbara on the phone: "Oh, that's all right, I understand… Feel better. Don't worry, we'll manage." She hung up and groaned. "I don't have time for this."

"What happened?" Martha inquired.

"One of our meal delivery volunteers is down with the flu. We're short-handed because of the holidays anyway, and this just makes it worse."

"Can I give you a hand? If you need extra help I'd be happy to do whatever I can."

Barbara looked immensely relieved. "Would you really do that? It'd be great—" her face suddenly changed and she turned to Jennifer, who had been helping to clear the table. "Don't worry about it, Martha. Jennifer will help me, won't you, honey?"

Martha was puzzled at Barbara's obvious change of heart, and her surprise sharpened to suspicion when she saw Jennifer's reflexive look of rebellion change to understanding. "Sure, Aunt Barbara," she said hastily, and was turning to leave the room when Martha stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Does this have anything to do with Aaron's ex-wife?" she asked, and knew her hunch had been correct when she saw the look on Barbara's face. "Look, I'm not worried about meeting her. It's got to happen sooner or later, and it might as well be sooner, don't you think?" She glanced between the two of them. "Just tell me this. Do you need some extra help or don't you?"

"We do," Barbara admitted reluctantly, "but I don't want to put you in a difficult position, Martha."

"Barbara, believe me. After everything I've been through this year, this is not something that bothers me. As long as I'm not going to get shot at I'm okay with it." Her quip raised a grin from Jennifer: "Okay, Aunt Martha, let's go." Trying not to let her jaw drop, Martha traded glances with Barbara and helped Jennifer carry the bagged portions of chili out to the car.

Martha had wondered if she would somehow instinctively recognize Aaron's ex-wife. It turned out to be simpler than she had thought, since only one other woman was present when they arrived at the community center; as they were introduced, Diane Pierce stared at Martha in a way that reminded her immediately of Beth Gardner. Somehow this gave her confidence: _If I can handle Beth, I can handle her._ Summoning up the remnants of her First Lady persona, Martha smiled politely and shook hands. If Diane had had any intention of confronting Martha, this calm approach seemed to change her mind; after a brief "hello," Diane seemed to back off and talked mostly to Gertrude Pierce as they worked. Jennifer stuck close to Martha, shooting several hostile glances at Diane. In a relatively short time, thirty boxed meals were assembled and ready for delivery.

"I'll go with Diane, dear," Gertrude said to Barbara. "Martha, could you deliver these eight? They're the closest, and Jennifer can show you where to go." Barbara frowned as her mother and former sister-in-law left. "I thought Mother would go with you, not Diane," she commented.

"It doesn't matter," Martha answered quickly. "I know they're still friends. Aaron told me this morning."

Jennifer's response to Martha's diplomacy was a snort of disgust. "I don't know why Grandma likes Aunt Diane," she confided as they delivered the completed meals. "She always thought I was a pest and hung around Nathan too much."

Aaron was practicing football passes in the front yard with his nephews when his ex-wife and his mother drove up. As Aaron watched, it was clear that Gertrude was encouraging Diane to come in and visit; after a brief conversation, Diane shook her head, gave Gertrude a brief hug and put the car into reverse. Aaron walked into the house with his mother, who was looking somewhat disappointed. "I was hoping the two of you could have a talk," she explained.

"We don't have much to talk about these days," Aaron retorted. "I thought Martha was going to bring you back? I thought it would be a good chance for you to get to know her."

Gertrude Pierce shook her head. "I don't know what to say to her, Aaron. She really is nice. She's been wonderful with Jennifer and she seems very sweet. She just… she's not the woman I thought you'd fall in love with."

"I know. But I love her. More than that, I trust her. I know how she feels about me and I know she'll never let me down. After Diane, that means more to me than anything." Aaron looked at her. "I thought you'd understand that."

"You always said you wanted to have more children," she reminded him.

He shrugged. "That isn't going to happen. It would have been nice, but it isn't as important as it used to be. After everything that's happened this year I'm lucky to be alive, let alone to have found someone like Martha. You've told me a hundred times that we don't get everything we want in this world." Impulsively, he walked over and hugged her. "I'm going to marry her. She's going to be part of this family. Please, try a little harder to get to know her. It's important." He smiled at his mother's stunned response: "You mean you've already asked her?"

"No, I haven't. It's too soon for that, but I already know she's the one. I'm hoping by this time next year we'll be married. For sure we'll be engaged."

"You never used to be this impulsive, Aaron." She looked at him in surprise. "You've changed."

"I probably have. I've wasted four years since the divorce, and I'm not going to do that any more. Life's just too short. I know how I feel, I know how Martha feels, and I think I'm happier than I've ever been in my life." Their conversation was cut short as Jennifer and Martha returned.

Late that evening Aaron and Martha returned to their motel room to get ready for the Christmas Eve service. Martha headed straight for her carry-on bag and rummaged through it, retrieving a stack of fashion magazines. "These are for Jennifer," she explained, showing them to Aaron.

Aaron grinned. "So you're getting along with her?"

"Really well. I guess I can identify with her a little bit," Martha admitted. "And her acting out doesn't bother me. I've done my share of that." She flushed, remembering the times in the past that Aaron had been the victim of her frustration, but was relieved when he hugged her. "People do that when they're unhappy. And you're not unhappy any more, are you?"

"No." She hugged him back, tightly. "Aaron, this Christmas is so much better than last year, I can't tell you. I'm really glad I'm here. And I like your family."

He looked at her lovingly, but a little sadly. "I just wish Nathan were here."

"I know you do, sweetheart. I wish he were here too." She gave him a quick kiss. "I guess we'd better get ready for church."

"Wait. I want you to open your present." He handed her a box bearing the logo of a Washington jewelry store. Inside she found a beautifully designed sterling bracelet and matching earrings; their severe geometry, rather than looking formal, somehow enhanced the soft lines of Martha's knit dress. "Aaron, they're beautiful!" She hugged him.

"I thought you could wear them on your speaking tour," he responded, looking pleased.

"I will. They'll bring me good luck." She whirled to her suitcase and extracted a wrapped box: "Now it's your turn." She watched eagerly as he unwrapped the box and pulled out a dull-green cashmere sweater. "Put it on," she urged him. "I want to see how it looks on you."

It fit perfectly, and the green contrasted wonderfully with Aaron's hair and eyes. "I like the neck on this," he commented.

"Zip necks are in on sweaters this year. And it's thin enough to fit under your jacket."

"This is great. Thank you, sweetheart." They held each other close for a moment, then he kissed the tip of her nose and whispered, "Merry Christmas."

The next morning, laden with presents for the family, Aaron and Martha headed over to Bill's. "I'm ready to show off my French toast skills. Do you think they'll be impressed?" Martha asked.

Aaron chuckled. "The kids will be thrilled. I usually grab one of them to help me. Now they can hang around and play with their stuff instead." 

As they pulled up to the house, Aaron had to park behind an unfamiliar car in the driveway. "It's early for visitors," he remarked, puzzled.

Bill met them in the hall, looking excited. "We've got a late Christmas present for you, Aaron. It's under the tree." He winked at Martha and gestured for her to follow them.

As they headed into the living room, a young man stepped from behind the tree with a grin on his face. "Hi, Dad! I got leave at the last minute—" his explanation was cut off by Aaron's shout: _"Nathan!"_


	17. Chapter 17

"He says he's going to marry her." Gertrude Pierce shook her head as she basted the turkey; Barbara took the pan from her and returned it to the oven. "When did he tell you this?"

"Yesterday. His heart is set on it, I can tell."

"Mother, she seems really nice. What I've seen of her. I thought meeting Diane would throw her, but she didn't even blink. Diane was the one who blinked," she added, drawing a smile from her sister-in-law.

Gertrude shot them a look. "I was hoping yesterday Diane could get a chance to talk to Aaron, but she could tell he wasn't interested. She wants to stay out of the way."

"Good." Barbara moved over to the stove to check the potatoes.

"I know your opinion of her, but I'll never forget how good she was to me after your father died." Gertrude sighed. "If Aaron hadn't gone off to Washington—" she left the sentence unfinished, cleaning the counters energetically.

Ann and Barbara traded looks, knowing what was coming. "Do you want me to talk to Martha?" Barbara offered, trying to send the conversation in a different direction. She wasn't in the mood to listen to her mother's annual rehash of the breakup of Aaron's marriage, and she found Gertrude's habit of making oblique hints rather than asking direct questions irritating.

Gertrude took the bait. "I'd like to know if she's serious. I don't want Aaron to get hurt again."

"I don't somehow think that's going to happen," Ann offered gently. "If she were the least bit phony, Jennifer would've seen right through her."

"Jennifer doesn't like Diane. She might be a little—biased—in favor of anyone Aaron was dating."

Barbara doubted this but was wise enough to keep her thoughts to herself. "I'll be glad to talk to Martha, Mother. Nathan should get a chance to talk to her, too."

"Nathan needs to go see Diane," her mother muttered.

"He will. He's got a car, he can go over there and drop off his luggage after dinner," Barbara answered hastily.

Gertrude gave her a somewhat guilty look. "She may be coming over here. I asked her to stop by for coffee and dessert."

"Who?" Bill had stepped into the kitchen, drawn by the savory smells. He found a spoon and stole a bite of stuffing, dodging a slap from Ann.

"Diane. Mother wants her to come over after dinner," Barbara answered glumly.

Bill grimaced. "Oh, Mother, no. That isn't fair to Martha, let alone Aaron. He's been dying to see Nate, and after everything that's happened to him this year, can't you just leave him be? Besides, Martha's got to meet Nate. It's difficult enough for her here without throwing Diane into the mix."

"I invited her before I knew Aaron was going to bring Martha. I admit it's difficult, but what should I do?"

"Tell her not to come," Bill answered through a mouthful of potato. "Are we gonna eat soon? I'm starved."

"Out," Ann ordered, laughing. "Wait, Bill. You spent some time with Aaron and Martha yesterday. What do you think?"

"I think she knows a lot about horses," Bill replied with a grin. "All right, I know what you're asking." He paused. "I like her, and I can see why Aaron likes her. She's crazy about him. Not that she was hanging all over him, but all you have to do is look at the two of them together to see it. I always had the feeling that Diane took Aaron more or less for granted, even when they were getting along… Martha doesn't. She thinks he's really something special." He looked at his mother. "I think he's found the right person, if that's what you want to know."

Gertrude smiled faintly. "If that's true, then I really am happy for him." She looked enquiringly at her daughter; Barbara nodded in answer. "I'll talk to her after dinner," she repeated.

"Nathan, will you help me tune my guitar? It always sounds better when you do it." Desperate for a few minutes with her favorite cousin, Jennifer had absented herself from the preparations for Christmas dinner, promising to help clean up after the meal instead.

"Sure, Jen," Nathan answered, taking the instrument from her. He worked on the strings for a minute or two, then softly played a few chords. "Jen," he said, keeping his head bent over the guitar.

"Uh huh?" Jennifer sat on the stairs next to him.

"You've met Dad's new girlfriend. What do you think of her?"

"She's really nice, Nathan. I like her. She listens to people—you know?" Seeing him nod, she continued: "She's not like I thought she'd be. Everything they said about her in the news, I don't think that's true. Or if it was, then she's changed. I think Uncle Aaron really likes her, and I think she really likes him. And she didn't mind doing boring stuff yesterday like fixing chili and delivering meals with Grandma and me. And she didn't freak out about meeting your mom."

Nathan raised his eyebrows and looked at her. "She sounds good. Dad hasn't dated anybody that I know of since he got divorced. He introduced me to her, but I haven't really had a chance to talk to her yet." He strummed the guitar thoughtfully.

"I'll go get her," Jennifer offered hastily; she slipped away and returned a minute later with Martha in tow. "Aunt Martha, Nathan's great with guitars. He got me this one three years ago for Christmas."

Obediently, Martha sat on the stairs to admire it. After a quick assessment, she thought Nathan was about eight years older than Jennifer. Although he had his father's red hair, he had none of Aaron's stoicism; his expressive features looked more like Diane's. He greeted her with a knowing grin that made it clear that Jennifer's "Aunt Martha" moniker had not escaped him. "My cousin's been singing your praises nonstop. It's great to meet you, Mrs.—Logan?"

"Powell," Martha corrected him, smiling. "I'm so glad you were able to get home for Christmas, Nathan. Your dad's told me a lot about you, and I know he's thrilled that you're here."

"Believe me, I'm thrilled to be here. My captain knew about Dad getting shot in Moscow and gave me priority for leave, but I still didn't think I'd make it till the very last minute. Then I was too busy trying to catch a flight to El Paso to call anybody." Nathan shook his head. "I landed at the crack of dawn, rented a car and got here around six-thirty. I thought Jennifer was going to have a heart attack when she answered the door." He grinned affectionately at his cousin. "No presents for you this year, Jen. I didn't have time to get anything. Sorry."

Jennifer gave him a quick hug. "You think I care about that? I'm just glad you got here." In Nathan's presence she was much happier and more relaxed than she had appeared the day before, Martha noted. "How long can you stay? Do you know?" she added eagerly.

"About four days. I'll get to Mom's after dinner, drop my stuff there." Nathan's smile vanished. "I know she's going to get on my case about reenlisting. That's the only thing I'm not looking forward to about this visit."

Jennifer groaned.

"Jen, not you too. I'll get enough of that from Mom." He looked at her appealingly; responding with a grumpy "Oh, all right," she got off the stairs and slouched over to her father, who was talking to Aaron and emptying a bowl of peanuts simultaneously.

"Does your mother know you're here?" Martha asked him.

"I called her after I got here." Nathan hesitated for a moment. "She was talking about coming over after dinner, I guess Grandma invited her." He shot a quick look at Martha, obviously unsure what her response would be.

_Why on earth did Gertrude do that?_ Martha wondered. She answered as casually as she could: "I met her yesterday when I helped your Aunt Barbara with the meal delivery program. Somebody called in sick, so I went along to the community center to help out. Your mom was the only other person there. That's pretty admirable, the day before Christmas."

Nathan nodded. "Mom's reliable that way. She always shows up when she's supposed to. Grandma came to depend on her a lot. She didn't want to move in with Uncle Bill and his family, didn't want to be a burden, but she finally realized she couldn't live by herself anymore. It would have happened a lot sooner if it hadn't been for Mom." He glanced across the room at his father; satisfied that Aaron wasn't paying attention to them, he leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Is it true that you saved Dad's life?"

"Yes. It's also true that he saved mine." Martha paused and looked at Nathan, wondering how to explain to him how she'd become involved with his father. "Something happened to us that day. We became a team, is the best way I can put it. We didn't fall in love instantly, but after what we went through he wasn't just another Secret Service agent to me any more. We looked out for each other, we helped each other get through the time after the attacks." She sighed, remembering. "It was really bad for your father, and I thought I was going to completely lose it. My marriage was coming to an end, I had to leave the White House on short notice… David Palmer was a dear friend to both of us, and my husband, the man your father was supposed to protect, not only ordered David's murder; he tried to have your father killed as well when he figured out what had really happened. Aaron seriously considered leaving the Service at first. I told him I thought it would be a mistake if he did, that he still had a lot to offer and that the next administration would really need him." She smiled. "He wasn't in charge of my detail any more, and pretty soon we started dating. It didn't take very long for us to fall in love." She stared into the distance for a moment, lost in thought, then collected herself and turned to meet Nathan's gaze. He was smiling.

"I know Dad's been unhappy for a long time," he finally said quietly. "He doesn't look unhappy any more. I think we have you to thank for that."

"Dinner!" Bill announced from across the room, looking relieved. "Everybody into the dining room!" He included Martha and Nathan in a sweeping gesture. "Come on, Nate, let's eat. You can play for us after dinner."

The dinner was reliably delicious, and Martha wound up eating more than she had planned. _Oh well, it's Christmas,_ she thought, and distracted herself from further worrying about calories by mentally calculating the number of platefuls that Bill had eaten. Aaron caught her looking at Bill's empty plate and whispered, "He's always been able to eat whatever he wants, and he works all day on the ranch. He must burn a couple thousand calories a day."

After the meal was over Aaron assisted Martha in clearing the table, but Ann shooed him out of the kitchen when he offered to help with cleanup. "Go talk to Nathan," she suggested instead. "It's your big chance before Diane gets here."

"Diane?" Aaron frowned. "Why is she coming here? I thought Nathan was going to drive over to her place after dinner."

"Mother invited her a while ago, before we knew you and Martha were coming." Barbara shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry, Aaron, but they are friends and she has been a big help with Mom. I couldn't say anything."

Aaron gave a short nod. "Got it." He left the kitchen, saying nothing more.

"It wouldn't be Christmas without some family angst," Martha quipped, hoping to lighten the tension.

"Nice of you to take it that way." Barbara began washing the glassware. "Diane does have her good points, you know. She's one of those very efficient people. She can be annoying, but she's a big asset to the community here. She does a lot of volunteer work in her spare time and she really loves this town."

"I know someone like that. She's the First Lady now. Beth Gardner." Martha gave a short laugh as the other two women's eyes widened in shock. "I'm not very fond of her personally, but she's made a better job of running the White House than I ever did." She paused. "She really enjoys what she does, and I always hated it."

"Really?" Ann stared at her, clearly fascinated. "I always thought it would be so great to get to travel and do fun stuff and be in the papers."

"You'd think so. But it's really stressful. It's nonstop, you never get a chance to relax, and it's all about image. If they'd let me be myself and talk about the things I wanted to talk about, cut back my schedule a bit… but everything's planned out for you, every single day. And Charles was changing. Looking back it seems so clear that something was wrong, but at the time I couldn't understand. All I knew was we weren't working together any more the way we used to." Martha sighed. "Basically, he bought into the image of being President and he dumped me along with everything else he used to believe in." She stared into the sink for a moment and then picked up a dishtowel and began drying the glasses stacked in the dish rack. "I'm not being much help here, am I."

"You've been a lot of help," Ann said reassuringly. "It was good of you to come and put yourself through all this. I know it meant a lot to Aaron, and it means a lot to us." She hesitated. "He looks happy, you know. Really happy."

"He is," Barbara chimed in. "He's a tough read, but if you know him you can tell."

"I hope so." Martha found tears coming to her eyes. "He's been wonderful to me. I can't imagine being without him." Trying to conceal her emotion, she turned to the cabinet and started stacking plates. Ann and Barbara looked quickly at each other, wondering what to say, but a moment later Barbara glanced out the kitchen window. "Oh boy," she muttered, "here she comes."

"Merry Christmas, Diane." Ann opened the back door. "Nice to see you."

"Thanks, Ann." Diane stepped into the kitchen, giving its occupants a quick nod. "Nathan's here?"

"He is. He looks great," Barbara answered, smiling.

"Good, good." Diane was pacing the kitchen tensely. "And Aaron?"

"He's in there with the boys," Ann answered.

Diane sighed. "I need to talk to him. About Nathan."

Barbara looked exasperated. "Does it have to be now, Diane?"

"I don't know if I'll get another chance. It's important, or I wouldn't be bothering you." Diane paused. "I'm not here to cause trouble, I just… really need to talk to him." She gave them a pleading look; her usual self-assured aura had vanished.

"I'll go get him," Martha offered, leaving the kitchen. Drawn by the sound of guitar music, she headed for the living room where Nate was playing to an appreciative audience. She tapped Aaron lightly on the shoulder and gestured for him to leave the room: "I'm sorry, Aaron, but Diane is here and she says she needs to talk to you."

"To _me?_"

"I think I know what it's about. Nathan told me he was going to reenlist…"

Aaron nodded. "I know, he told me too."

"Well, I don't think Diane wants him to."

"Nate's old enough to make his own decisions. It's not for either one of us to tell him what to do," Aaron answered, frowning.

"I know, Aaron, but if you listen to her maybe you can calm her down. She looks really upset."

"She never wanted him to join up in the first place. One of our last fights was about whether to try to stop him or not." Aaron shook his head. "All right, where is she?"

Martha pointed him to the kitchen. "Do you want me…"

"Better not." He touched her shoulder. "I'll be back in a minute. Go sit with Nathan."

Martha lingered in the dining room for a moment, wondering whether to stay; a few moments later, Ann and Barbara joined her there. Ann was clearly trying to pretend that nothing was wrong, whereas Barbara looked as though she were dying to eavesdrop. Martha decided to relieve her of the temptation. "Ann, can I talk to you for a minute? Barbara, maybe you too?" She gestured down the hall away from the kitchen.

Ann looked confused. "Of course, Martha. What is it?"

"It's about Jennifer. She showed me her project yesterday, her design portfolio. It's really good. She seems to have a real eye for fashion."

"I can't understand why she got the grade she did." Ann shook her head. "Her teacher wasn't impressed."

"Her teacher is an idiot," Martha answered bluntly. "I didn't tell Jennifer that, but she is." Barbara flashed her a grin, encouraging her to continue. "I'm going to be in Dallas on a speaking tour in about six weeks. What I wanted to ask is if you and Bill could make arrangements to have Jennifer meet me there. I know some people at Neiman Marcus who might be willing to give her some career advice." She saw Ann's face cloud over and continued quickly. "I haven't told Jennifer about this, I didn't want to promise anything, but I can tell this is something she really enjoys. Even if she doesn't go into design, I think it would be a great experience for her."

Barbara spoke first. "Martha, that's fantastic. Do you think you could do it?"

"I can try. I think they'll listen to me; I used to spend a lot of money there," Martha answered dryly.

"I'll have to see what Bill thinks." Ann looked thoughtful. "It's wonderful of you to offer this, Martha. I always hoped Jennifer would stay to help us run the ranch, but you're right, I don't think that's what she really wants to do. I'll talk to him and let you know what he says tomorrow."

Before Martha could answer the sound of a door slamming startled them, and a moment later Aaron stalked past them down the hall. "Diane's outside waiting for Nathan. I'm going to go get him," he said grimly, and continued into the living room.

"Great. I knew she was going to ruin it," snapped Barbara, ignoring Ann's hushing gesture. "And Nathan hasn't even had dessert yet."

"Well, I'll cut them some pie. They can take it back to her house." Even Ann, normally so calm, looked slightly ruffled. "I'll need some foil."

"I'll get it. I left my bracelet next to the sink and I need to get it anyway." Martha hurried into the kitchen, only to stop short at the sight of Diane drying her eyes on a dishtowel. "Ann's cutting some pie for you and Nathan," she offered lamely; "I'm here to get the foil." She glanced quickly around the kitchen, trying to figure out where it was likely to be kept.

"It's in the drawer next to the stove." Diane pointed. Turning her back, she folded her arms and stared out the window. As Martha picked up the bracelet lying next to the sink, she spun around again. "Is that yours?" she inquired sharply.

Martha was tempted to answer "No, I stole it from Gertrude," but restrained herself. "Aaron gave it to me for Christmas," she replied instead. "These earrings go with it."

Diane looked slightly ashamed. "Nice choice." Making an obvious effort, she continued: "Gertrude says you'll be here another couple of days, is that right?"

"Yes, it's a short trip. We both have to get back to Washington."

"So he's still with the Service after everything you people did to him? I guess he'll never learn." Diane shook her head impatiently.

"He got promoted to an administrative position. They think a lot of him in the Service. I know my ex-husband turned out to be a traitor, but that doesn't mean everybody in the government is." Martha hesitated and then decided to go for broke. "I told Aaron not to quit. I know he thought about it at first, but it would have been the wrong decision. I think now he's glad he stayed."

"Hm." Diane eyed her. "I never wanted Aaron to go into the Service in the first place. There were other things he could have done. And then Nathan, all of his friends in Washington had parents who were in the military…" she let the sentence trail off. "I know that's where he got the idea to join the Navy. After September eleventh it was all he talked about. You probably think I'm selfish, wanting to stop him, but I worry about him every day."

"Of course you do. So does Aaron. So does everybody else who has a kid in active service. But it's Nathan's call."

"All I wanted was for everything to stay the same. A nice quiet life here, where we both know people." Diane flung the dishtowel down on the counter, exasperated. "I don't think that was asking too much. Gertrude wanted him to stay too," she added, as though to clinch her argument.

"People don't always do what we want them to do, or what we expect."

"I guess not." Diane shook her head. "You probably think I treated him badly, but I really did try. After a while I just couldn't do it anymore." She bit her lip. "Maybe you've got more patience than I do. Take it from me, you're going to need it. One of these days Aaron's going to make a decision that you don't agree with, and you're just going to have to live with it. Or you're going to have to leave like I did." She turned away. "I'll wait outside for Nathan. Tell Gertrude I couldn't stay."

Hours later, Aaron collapsed into bed next to Martha with a sigh of relief. "Are you tired?" she asked, putting her arms around him.

"Mm-hmm. It was a good day, but I'm glad it's over."

"It was a very good day." They lay in silence for a few minutes, punctuated by the faraway whistle of a train. "I've heard that every night for the last three nights," Martha commented idly.

"They have schedules. I remember growing up I could figure out what time it was at night by listening for the trains – the two a.m. and the four a.m." Aaron smiled sleepily. "When I hear the trains, I always know I'm home."

"Do you miss it here?"

"When I'm here I remember the good times and I wonder why I ever left." Aaron sighed. "Then I get back to Washington and get caught up in work, and I forget again." He glanced at Martha: "I always thought I'd come back some day. There's no reason for me to stay in Washington after I retire, really."

"No reason for me to stay, either. The work I do I can do from anywhere." Martha thought for a moment. "I had planned to go back to California when things settled down, but now that's obviously not going to happen."

"If you wanted horses you could have them here," Aaron ventured. "Bill knows all the property in this area, he could advise us on where to buy. I don't know that we could afford land in California."

Visualizing Gertrude and Diane's constant presence in her future, Martha winced in the darkness. The irony of Aaron persuading her to move from Washington back to Texas did not escape her, but then she remembered Diane's words and resigned herself to the inevitable. "Having horses would be wonderful, Aaron. We'd have to start saving. When do you think it would be, five years? Ten?"

"Closer to five than ten, I hope. Let's say seven."

"Okay, seven." Martha leaned against him, giddy with the realization that they'd just been planning for the long term. A tiny voice in the back of her mind warned her to make the most of the next seven years, but she pushed it out of her consciousness for the moment.

Aaron was smiling at her. "Do you want to shake on it?" he offered jokingly.

"I've got a better idea." Martha started unbuttoning his pajama jacket.


	18. Chapter 18

"So. How's Bill?"

"He seems fine. He's a very cheerful guy, eats like a horse—"

"He always did." Angie slit open another envelope and extracted a piece of official-looking letterhead, which she added to the pile of correspondence relating to Martha's speaking tour.

"I like his wife. She's very easygoing. She seems to be coping pretty well with having Aaron's mother in the house."

"Ann was one of the sweetest people I ever met. When I heard she and Bill were getting married, I was really happy for both of them. I knew they'd do well." Angie eyed Martha understandingly. "Mrs. Pierce is a little like Aaron, really. She can be difficult to get to know."

"She was—I don't know. Not unfriendly. She was very polite and I could see she was trying. She just seemed sort of tepid about the whole idea that I was dating Aaron."

"She probably was, and I don't think it had anything to do with you." Angie sat back from the table. "She's always had strong ideas about the way she thinks things ought to be. Aaron's the eldest, and she adored him. When he moved to Washington she didn't try to talk him out of it, but I know she was upset."

"That's what Diane said."

Angie stared across the table: "You talked to _Diane?_"

"She came over after Christmas dinner, she wanted to talk to Aaron about Nathan reenlisting. They had a fight. I went into the kitchen to help pack up some dessert for her and Nathan, and we wound up having a conversation on our own."

"What did you think of her?"

"She was everything you said she was. The good and the bad." Martha hesitated. "She said something I've been thinking about, that I would need a lot of patience to deal with Aaron."

"Of course she would say that, not having any herself."

"I don't know. Nathan told me she was very supportive of Mrs. Pierce when she was trying to live on her own, before she moved in with Bill and Ann. If she had no patience at all she wouldn't have been able to do that."

"Well, for what it's worth I think any relationship needs a lot of give-and-take. What about your ex-husband? You tried with him, didn't you?"

Martha sighed. "I sure as hell did."

"Then don't worry about it. If you could put up with Charles Logan, Aaron's got to be a piece of cake."

"He says he wants to move back to Texas when he retires."

Angie grimaced. "What did you say?"

"I said okay. I had to admit it would be easier to afford than California. And there's no reason for us to stay here in Washington."

"When did he say?"

"Not for awhile. We thought about seven years."

"Well, think it over." Angie shook her head. "I admit I'm biased, but think it over."

"Oh, believe me, I will. But I can tell he misses Texas. He knows everybody in town. We stayed at this motel run by a Mr. Wynn—"

Angie's eyes widened. "I remember him. His son used to date this friend of mine."

Martha smiled. "Angie, the next time we go back, why don't you come with us?"

"I don't really think… I'm not sure." Angie paused. "Why'd you ask?"

"You've got this monkey on your back. Speaking as an expert, I think a trip back might help you get rid of it."

Her assistant gave a short laugh. "You might be right."

"Bill's oldest daughter is going to meet us in Dallas, on the tour. Her name's Jennifer. I'm taking her to Neiman-Marcus to talk to a friend of mine—she's really interested in clothing design, and I think she's got real talent. I promised Ann I'd take her home and drop in for a visit." Martha raised her eyebrows. "How about it?"

"I suppose I could. Give me some time to think about it."

"Okay." Martha let the subject drop.

Jon Cardona's investigation was beginning to bear fruit. The backgrounds of the manager, mailroom staff and maintenance crew of Martha's apartment building had been quietly but thoroughly checked. One of the maintenance workers, who turned out to have a long gambling history, had been heavily in debt to his bookie; his account had been paid off shortly after Martha had moved into the building.

"What do you think, Aaron? Do we plant somebody in there? Talk to the manager?"

"I wouldn't do either one yet, it might tip the guy off." Aaron thought for a moment. "Can we get a warrant for his cell phone records? Tap his home phone? We could try following him, but the kind of information he's passing he wouldn't have to meet with anybody. Maybe get his bank account info as well. They probably paid him in cash, but it can't hurt to try."

Cardona nodded. The two of them had agreed not to inform Martha of their theory that a spy had been planted in her building for fear of alarming her. Aaron had debated the question of whether or not to warn Angie, but Cardona had ruled against it for the time being; Aaron reminded himself that he was no longer on Martha's detail and gave Jon the final word. He returned to his desk, eyed the paperwork waiting on it for a moment and then, yielding to temptation, called Martha.

"How are you, sweetheart?"

"Just fine. I've been pounding out a couple of drafts for my tour. I keep wondering what on earth I'm going to talk to these people about, but I think I'm managing okay. How are you doing?"

"Like you, just fine. It's amazing how the paperwork piles up when I'm gone for a few days. I'll be here late tonight. What about you? Any plans?"

"I'm having dinner with Jane. It sounds like she broke up with George Friedman—the man she was with at the White House reception."

"Oh, right. I didn't think that would last long."

"Well, she's in the mood for a pity party. I'm going over there to hold her hand. You don't know any single guys I could introduce her to, do you, Aaron?"

"Only Service agents. Jon's married, or I'd recommend him in a heartbeat. Let me think about it and I'll see if I can come up with anyone."

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow night?"

"You'll see me tomorrow night," he confirmed. They hung up and Aaron turned back to his desk. He tried to focus on drawing up an agenda for the next staff meeting, but thoughts of Martha continued to run through the back of his mind. They'd fallen into a routine where he now spent most of each weekend with her, in addition to one or two weeknights. In her closet hung one of his work suits and a couple of clean shirts, and she'd convinced him to keep a spare razor and toothbrush in the bathroom to make mornings easier. _The camel's nose in the tent_, he thought confusedly, wondering when she'd suggest that he move in with her. He knew it was coming.

"I don't think either one of us is ready yet," he said to Angie over lunch a few days later. "Besides, I don't want us to live together. I want us to get married."

Angie gave him a surprised look. "Talk about mixed messages." She leaned back as their orders were placed on the table, inhaling the aroma of barbecue sauce. "Damn, this looks good. We haven't been here in months." Their chosen lunch spot was run by a fellow Texan who had emigrated to the Washington environs years before; its location in a somewhat dicey part of town did nothing to hinder its popularity. She bit into a second corn muffin with a contented sigh. "I'm not saying you're not right. Things between you have been moving a little fast. But tell me why you think Martha's not ready."

Aaron hesitated, trying to organize his thoughts. "She needs time to get over what happened. I know she loved him. She believed in him. I was there, I saw them together every day, and I know. I'm not saying she's in love with him now, I know she isn't. But she went from being in love with him one day to finding out what he really was the next, and that's just like having somebody die. And she was an emotional wreck before all this happened. I don't mind telling you, I thought she'd wind up back in Vermont for sure." He took a bite of his lunch. "I've seen her down, having what she calls 'bad memories'… things that remind her of him. It'll get better. But it seems to me that this is not the time to commit to a new relationship."

"Everything you're saying makes sense. But have you _asked_ her?"

"No." He said nothing more for a few moments. Angie remained silent, and presently he continued. "Ever since we got back from Russia, I've been so happy I didn't want to bring it up. I just wanted to enjoy what we had and not analyze it to death."

"Is that why you aren't ready?"

"I guess that's part of it. But it isn't the real reason." He looked down at the table, speaking more quietly. "I thought I'd gotten past what happened to me. When I decided to stay with the Service, I thought I could go along the way I always had. I like working with President Gardner, my promotion has kept things interesting, and I have Martha. But I can't get over it, Angie." Aaron pushed his plate away abruptly. "Every time I think about what he did to David Palmer, every time I think about what he did to her, I want to kill him." He met her startled look. "I've never felt this way before. I've never really wanted to kill someone before. But if I had the chance, I know I could do it and not think twice about it. And I can't tell her that. She's come to terms with it somehow, I don't know how, but when she goes to visit him I don't say anything, because I'm afraid. I don't want her to know how I feel."

After a long pause Angie answered him. "You're definitely not ready to get married." He nodded silently in response. "Aaron, whether the two of you get married or live together is not the big issue here. You can't do either one until you get this straightened out. And I'll be honest with you, I think Martha's more stable emotionally right now than you are."

"_What?_"

"Two things. First, she's been meeting with her psychiatrist. I happen to know she hasn't missed a single appointment. She knows this is something she needs to do. That's a resource you don't have. Second, I know the ending of her marriage was a shock, but she's said several times what a relief it's been not to have the responsibility of being First Lady any more. I think it's also been a relief not to be Charles Logan's wife any more. The man was playing her like a fish, and she knows it. Just getting away from him was half the battle. You were right to be concerned about her, but I don't think it's been as bad for her as you think."

She waved the waiter away. "Eat your lunch," she ordered. "Now it's your turn. You keep talking about how much Martha's been through, but you never mention what you've been through. You were nearly killed twice in the space of a couple months, Aaron. Did you really think you could just walk away from that and not have it affect you? The man you were supposed to protect sold you out; you lost two people you cared about, Agent Williams and President Palmer. And then you fell in love. That's something that's guaranteed to bring all your emotions to the surface. Martha told me you had a fight with Diane at Christmas—"

Aaron groaned. "I really lost it," he agreed. "I thought I could keep my temper with her, but I couldn't believe how angry I was even before she said anything. I think I scared her," he added, upset. "I've never seen her look like that."

"That's another thing you've never dealt with. I told you you needed to see somebody—"

He nodded. "Yes, you did. And no, I didn't."

"Do the math, Aaron. I understand how you feel. I think everything you've told me is totally normal when you consider what you've been through. Stop feeling guilty about it and do something about it."

"What do I do?"

"Talk to her. I know it'll be difficult, but I really don't think she'll be all that shocked. I mean, she was there, she saved your life—" Angie stopped.

Aaron gave her a half smile. "She told you?"

"It was in the hospital after you got shot. I was having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that I'd actually killed somebody, and that's when she told me what happened. She was really helpful, Aaron. She'd make a pretty good psychologist." Angie chuckled. "You know I haven't been back home in years, but she convinced me to go back with her when she meets your niece in Dallas. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I'm gonna do it."

Aaron stared at her, impressed. "Really." He took an absent bite of his barbecue. "You know what, I'm full. I can't eat this stuff the way I used to."

Angie eyed him approvingly. "You look like you've lost some weight."

"I probably have. Martha mostly eats diet food. I've eaten more vegetables in the last few months than I have in the last few years, I think." He smiled. "Every once in awhile when I can't stand it any more we go out for pizza."

The next day an excited Cardona accosted Aaron in the hallway: "I've got it! Your idea about the cell phone records worked." He gestured to his office; Aaron followed him, curious. Cardona picked up a sheaf of faxed records. "Look. Mrs. Logan—Powell," he corrected himself, "moved in four months ago. We pulled records starting three months before that date. See this number? Six days before she moved in, and it's the first time it shows up." He pointed to a number circled in red.

"Yeah, Jon."

"These are his monthly statements since then, in chronological order. We highlighted that number every time it showed up. He made and received several calls involving that number while you and Ms. Powell were out of the country."

"Did you trace the number?"

"We sure did. It wasn't easy; the phone company gave us a bit of a hard time. It belongs to a man whose name comes up from time to time with law enforcement. The cops around here all know who he is, but he doesn't have an arrest record. We don't know much about him. He's active around Washington, does the socialite thing. He shows up at charity events and fundraisers for both political parties. We don't know what his means of support is. His income source is a well-kept secret. And," he paused for emphasis, "we know he knows that attorney. Dunlap. He hired him once when he was questioned in regard to a shooting that took place about a year and a half ago. He was never charged, but he was placed at the scene. The case was never solved."

"Who got shot?"

"A private detective who specialized in government investigations." He traded looks with Aaron. "He worked with the Attorney General's office a lot. A friend of mine on the Maryland police force told me that by the time they got to the victim's office it had already been searched. Somebody had gone through his files."

Aaron frowned. "What's this guy's name?"

"Christian Whitcomb."

Aaron made a quick decision. "Let's pull the White House security records, Jon. It might be worthwhile to see if this Whitcomb ever met with anyone there."

"All right, I'm on it."

"Martha?" Aaron called to the kitchen. He was trying to watch the football playoffs, but Jon's information kept running through the back of his mind, distracting him. He muted the sound on the television, the better to focus on his thoughts.

"Uh huh?" Martha emerged carrying a tray, which she set down on the coffee table next to their drinks.

"Do you know somebody named Christian Whitcomb?"

"Whitcomb. Whitcomb." Martha frowned. "It sounds familiar somehow, but I'm not sure how." She curled up next to him on the sofa. "Is it important?"

"I'm not sure. I've heard the name, but I'd rather not tell you where just yet. Let me know if you remember anything about him." He stared at the contents of the bowl he'd picked up. "What are these?"

"Edamame. They're soybeans. Try them, they're really good." She smiled at him encouragingly.

"No chips, huh?" Aaron watched as Martha split a pod, extracted the beans and popped them into her mouth. "This is just like shelling peas." Cautiously, he imitated her actions and tried the beans: "Hey, these aren't bad."

She patted his stomach. "These are better for you." Smiling, she leaned her head on his shoulder and added: "Have I told you you're looking fantastic?"

Aaron grinned. "Even Angie noticed." He slid an arm around her shoulders and added, "She tells me you're having Marie over for lunch."

"Marie's been a huge help. With the tour coming up I had to get a lot of research done really fast, and Angie couldn't do it all, so she called Marie. Things at the Smithsonian are pretty quiet right now and she was able to help us out. I still haven't met her yet, and I wanted to thank her."

"You'll like her. She's kind of hyper, but she's really nice." Aaron eyed the TV screen again, frowning: "This is a lousy excuse for a game. Somebody forgot to teach these guys about defense." He shrugged and turned back to Martha. "So you're leaving when, in a week?"

"Eight days. I've got a whole list of stuff to get through before I go, and I have to make final arrangements with Ann to meet Jennifer in Dallas. And," she hesitated, "I've got to go talk to Charles again." Martha glanced at him uncertainly. "I'm sorry—" she began.

"You don't need to apologize, Martha. It's got to be your call." Aaron forced himself to add calmly, "You said you had the feeling he was about to tell you something more. Is that right?"

"I really think he was."

"I hate to ask this, but do you think he's just stringing you along? Maybe he wants the attention. I doubt anybody else is visiting him."

"I agree that's possible. But the last time I talked to him it really shook him when I told him I was the target of the Russian terrorist attack. It wasn't what he had expected to hear."

Aaron stared straight ahead without answering. After nearly thirty seconds of silence, which felt like an eternity, frustration overwhelmed Martha and she decided to attack the issue head on. "Damn it, Aaron, be honest with me!" She gripped his arm, shaking it for emphasis. "I can tell you hate my mentioning him. I just wish you'd tell me how you feel. It doesn't help when you don't say anything."

He looked directly at her, hesitated, then spoke. "You're right. I do hate it when you talk about him, but it's not for the reasons you think. I don't really know how to tell you this without sounding—" He broke off and tried again. "It's something I kept hoping would go away, but it hasn't." Slowly, he began to share with her the issues he'd spoken about with Angie: the pain he'd felt since the death of David Palmer. His humiliation when Adams had beaten him nearly senseless, and again when Logan had assumed he could be bribed into keeping his mouth shut. Hearing Logan abuse her, verbally and physically, on the recording. "When I heard that, I wanted to kill him," he concluded. "I still do, every time I think about him. And I'm ashamed to have to tell you that." He looked down, afraid to meet her gaze.

Martha slipped her hand under his chin. "Aaron, look at me." She gently raised his head; as he looked at her he was amazed to see her eyes brimming with tears. "You are the best person I've ever known. It isn't in you to hate. I believe this is why you feel so badly about this." She was crying now; wiping her tears away, she threw her arms around him. "I'll never forgive him for what he did to you. There's nothing wrong with feeling like this. I wanted to kill him too—remember? I told you that the day after the attacks, when you told me about Evelyn." He nodded. "But something happened, I'm not sure what. I had to meet with him in order to get the divorce, and when I did I realized that he'd been nothing but a pawn. He deserves to be punished, but the people who set him up for this got off scot-free. And before that, when we went to David's lying in state, you told me what was happening to him was the worst punishment he could receive. The more I think about it the more I think you were right. That's why I can see him now without wanting to kill him." She buried his face in his shoulder. "Please, promise me you won't try to deal with this by yourself any more. That's what I'm here for. You shouldn't be afraid to tell me how you feel. I love you."

Overwhelmed, Aaron held her tight for several seconds before he could speak. "I love you too, Martha. I'm sorry. I should have told you—" she cut him off with a kiss. He took her face gently in his hands and kissed away her remaining tears, then suddenly realized she had moved onto his lap and was unbuttoning his shirt. Before he could say anything, she was kissing him deeply. It felt completely natural for him to respond, and without thinking he pulled her down with him onto the couch.

Though their first night together had been more than satisfactory for both Martha and Aaron, it had been somewhat guarded due to Aaron's recent injuries and the emotional scarring they had both suffered in the past. Now healed in both respects, neither of them found any reason to hesitate or feel self-conscious. In a very few minutes they were completely naked, and Aaron's only remaining concern was the mechanics of making love on Martha's somewhat narrow couch. The bedroom, he realized, would have been easier, but neither of them were in a mood to stop what they were doing. It was clear this would require some adjustment.

"How are we going to do this?" he muttered breathlessly.

"Let's try this way—" she slithered on top of him.

"Okay," he managed, and then both of them were swept away by desire. Knowing they would soon be separated for several weeks made them even more eager to experience each other fully, and the restrictions of the couch turned out not to be a problem after all.

Some time later, Aaron groped for the afghan slung across the back of the couch; despite their frenzied activity it had miraculously stayed in place. Martha, still on top of him, was nearly asleep. He shook out the afghan as best he could and flung it over her, then reached for the remote to turn off the TV. His eye was caught by the "Breaking News" banner across the bottom of the screen; suddenly his eyes widened and he turned up the sound.

"What is it, Aaron?" murmured Martha.

"Sshhh…" he gestured toward the television. Her eyes widened as the newscaster's words sank in:

"Local attorney Gene Dunlap, famous for his defense of organized crime figures, found dead today in a suspected carjacking. Stay tuned for more news as it happens…"


	19. Chapter 19

"I know, Jane. If it's any help, I'm not going to have an exciting Valentine's either. I'm getting ready to leave on the tour and Aaron's swamped at work, so we haven't really made plans." A pause, then: "George wasn't good enough for you. He really wasn't. Aaron couldn't believe how rude he was to you at the reception. I really do believe you'll find somebody better."

One minute later: "I've always thought Valentine's Day was overrated myself. All it does is make people feel guilty or inadequate, and it jacks up the price of flowers."

Aaron wandered across the room and kissed the top of Martha's head; she smiled at him and took his hand. "You're not whining, Jane. I promise. Are you kidding? After everything you did for me when I left Charles, the least I can do is try to help you. Look. I've got a fundraiser to go to on the thirteenth. Care to join me? It'll get you out of the house…" she gave Aaron an apologetic look. "You never know, you might meet somebody there. I'll pick you up at six." She hung up and turned to Aaron. "I'm sorry about that. She really sounds down."

"I thought you wanted me to go with you?" Aaron did his best to look disappointed, but then their eyes met and he started to chuckle. As Martha well knew, Washington social events were something he preferred to avoid whenever possible.

"I did. I do. But if you don't care, it might be good for Jane. And maybe we'll have more time on Valentine's if you work late the day before?" she ended on a hopeful note.

"You've got a point. The Attorney General and President Gardner have been calling meetings left and right the last few days." Aaron raised an eyebrow. "Besides, I think Mrs. Gardner would have something to say about it if the President canceled her Valentine's evening for anything short of a nuclear war."

Martha started to laugh. She had learned over the years that Beth Gardner was rigidly insistent about celebrating Valentine's Day. Her first unkind theory, that Beth viewed the holiday as an excuse to get an expensive piece of jewelry, had been disproved as time went on and she realized that Beth took equal delight in an unusual card or a single chocolate truffle on her breakfast plate—anything that showed that Hal had thought of her. In contrast, Charles' gift had always been the same: Half a dozen red roses, which Walt Cummings had probably reminded him to order. No matter how many times she reminded him, Charles had never been able to remember that she preferred gerbera daisies to roses. This sour memory was one of the reasons Martha disliked this particular holiday and the only reason she had been envious of the Gardners. "I think Beth Gardner may be a closet romantic in her own way," she admitted. "She does love Valentine's Day."

Aaron looked slightly surprised. "And you don't?"

"No." Realizing the bleakness of her answer, she hugged him and added, "As far as I'm concerned every day with you is Valentine's Day." She kissed his cheek and smiled in response to his startled look. "I don't need a card or a box of chocolate to know that you love me."

"Not even those cheap candy hearts with the messages on them?" he teased, trying to lighten her mood.

Martha made a face. "I hate those things. The messages are cute, but they taste awful."

Aaron put a finger under her chin and gently raised her head. "I promise you one thing. We will be together on Valentine's Day, no matter what. I want you to have some good memories this year."

"I want that for you, too. I promise, no more cynical remarks. I just want a romantic evening with you before I leave." She hugged him again, thinking remorsefully:_ Stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something nice for him._

"Okay, Martha, what's the point of this shindig?" Jane had obediently changed out of her work outfit, touched up her makeup and was now sitting beside Martha en route to the fundraiser. She wasn't particularly enthusiastic about their outing, but it was clear that she was making an effort to appear cheerful and enjoy herself.

"They're raising money for startup business projects in the Third World. It's sponsored by a couple of organizations that specialize in economic studies. I'm sure you'll know some of the people there." Jane's ex-husband, Walter, had worked with several economic groups in the course of his career as a lobbyist.

"And how did you get involved with them?"

"Charles made me do it," Martha answered honestly, "but I found it really interesting. I think they're doing good work, and the funds haven't gotten sucked up in bribery or corruption as far as I can tell. I wanted to keep supporting them."

"Good for you," Jane answered approvingly. "Didn't some guy win the Nobel Prize for that a few years ago?"

"Yes, and he's their keynote speaker tonight." Martha was pleased to see that Jane looked impressed by this news. Their car slid to a stop; escorted by Jon Cardona, they headed into the Economics Institute where the fundraiser was being held.

"Martha!" Startled by the unexpected greeting, Martha didn't realize at first that Mike Novick was embracing her.

"How are you, Mike?" She smiled and gestured toward Jane. "Let me introduce you. Mike Novick, this is my friend Jane Hughes. You might know her former husband, Walt…"

"Ah yes, of course!" Novick smiled and shook hands. "I've met with him a few times, I believe."

"Lucky you." Jane unleashed this riposte automatically, then blinked and gained control of herself. "He has a strong interest in economics."

Mike shot a questioning look to Martha, then answered blandly, "I haven't seen much of him lately."

"We're from Massachusetts originally," Jane answered more calmly. "I think he's been working with the state government the last year or so." Taking her cue from Mike, she slid into an automatic social conversation. "Are you interested in Third World economics?"

"Well, I work with the Institute now, so I'm interested in all aspects of economics," Mike quipped. "I used to be on staff with President Logan."

Jane gave him a quick look of comprehension. "And President Palmer too, I think?"

"Yes, I was privileged to work with him," Mike answered quietly. He looked about to continue the conversation, but at that point they were interrupted by a loud-talking guest who was clearly hoping for an introduction to the evening's speaker. Under duress, Mike politely split him off from Martha and Jane, casting a long-suffering look back at them as he guided their interrupter toward the bar.

"I think I remember him," Jane commented. "Not sure where, though."

"You know how it is in Washington. You might have met him half a dozen times." Martha was standing against a wall, scanning the room for the Institute's director who had invited her for the evening. "Mike's a good guy. He's one of those 'know everybody' people, but there's more to him than that. I trust him more than anyone except Aaron."

Jane looked impressed. "That speaks well for him, Martha, if you trust him."

"He's always been absorbed in his work, but it's gotten worse ever since his wife died…" Martha trailed off, struck by an idea. "Jane!"

Jane gave her a horrified look. "Martha, please, no. No grieving widowers."

"It's been a while. And they were never that close to begin with." Martha was almost dragging Jane across the room in pursuit of Mike.

"For God's sake, Martha, don't play matchmaker with me! It's too embarrassing."

"Well, okay." Martha relented. "Maybe we can meet up with him later tonight. I do have to say, Jane, I think you'd be perfect for each other."

"Because we both breathe oxygen? Or do we have more in common than that?"

"Oh, come on, Jane. You know how things work in this town and so does he. You know a lot of the same people. I'm not saying that's all you need, but at least you could carry on a conversation with him. And I can promise you that he'd never treat you like George did." She broke off the conversation as the master of ceremonies approached the podium and they were forced to search for seats.

"Martha, where's your friend?" Scanning the room for Agent Cardona to signal that they were ready to leave, Martha turned around in surprise to see Mike.

"She met up with somebody she knows from work. They're over there." Martha eyed him thoughtfully. "I brought her out with me tonight to cheer her up. She was dating George Friedman for a while – remember him?" Mike gave a grunt of recognition. "He dumped her, and she's been really down about it. I thought bringing her out tonight might help."

"That's too bad. First Hughes, and now Friedman." Novick looked sympathetic. "She seemed nice."

"She is nice, Mike. She helped me with my move, and I put her in charge of decorating my apartment. She did a fantastic job. I wasn't in the mood to care how things looked, but she told me it would make a difference and she was right."

"I don't suppose she'd be free for dinner tomorrow night?"

"I happen to know she is free, but… you do realize tomorrow's Valentine's Day, don't you?"

Novick looked horrified. "Oh, my God. Thanks for reminding me. Maybe I'll ask her for this weekend."

Martha thought fast. "You're probably right," she answered casually. "There's no way you could get a dinner reservation on one day's notice. Not for tomorrow."

"Oh I don't know," Mike responded without thinking. "I know a couple of maître d's who owe me a favor." Suddenly realizing he'd given himself away, he shot Martha a look. 

"Mike," Martha answered honestly, "if you can deliver on that promise, you'll have every single woman in Washington knocking down your door."

"I don't want every single woman in Washington, Martha. I just want somebody I can talk to."

"Then ask her. She's nice, she's smart and she knows enough about Washington for you to have an interesting conversation over dinner." She gave him an innocent look

Novick hesitated. "Well… okay." He squared his shoulders and headed across the room; Martha signaled to Cardona. "Give us another three minutes, Jon?"

The following evening Martha sat Aaron down at the kitchen table (which was decorated with a very large bunch of gerbera daisies, Aaron's gift) for dinner. As she served the strawberries Romanoff for dessert, Aaron sat back with a sigh. "That was delicious." He smiled. "I'm glad you didn't want to go out tonight."

"Fighting five hundred other people for dinner? No thanks." She flashed him a grin. "I do wonder, though, how Mike and Jane are doing tonight."

"You seem to have cheered up a bit."

"There's something about playing Cupid that makes me feel very romantic. Maybe I haven't given Valentine's Day a fair chance." She leaned over and kissed him.

Aaron kissed her back, then picked up their desserts and put them back in the refrigerator. "Can we save these for later?" He took her hand and pulled her up to face him.

"Yes," she whispered, smiling into his eyes. "Let's save them for later."

This is true! Muhammad Yunus of Bangladesh won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2006, splitting it with the Grameen Bank "for their efforts to create economic and social development from below." Remember, _24_ is set a few years into the future, hence "a few years ago."


	20. Chapter 20

"Martha." He pulled her closer. "Martha, relax." He could feel the tension throughout her body.

"Aaron, that wasn't a carjacking." She began to tremble.

"I know it. But we don't know all the details yet. In fact, we don't know anything. It could have been an angry client out for revenge, or the Mafia might have decided that he knew too much."

"Or the people who hired him to defend Charles might have decided that. Oh my God, I _told _him! I told Charles!" Angrily, she punched the couch. "I am such an idiot."

"Told him what?" They were sitting up now and Aaron was reaching for his clothes.

"That we'd found out who told the terrorists that I was going to Russia. At first he thought I was accusing him. Then he wanted to know who we suspected. At first I wouldn't tell him, but he said he needed to know who it was, that it might help keep me safe. So I told him we thought it was Dunlap."

Aaron was dressing as he listened. For a few seconds he remained silent, buttoning his shirt carefully; then he glanced over to Martha, saw her expression and put his hand on her shoulder. "Don't blame yourself. There's more to this than you know. Dunlap was under a lot of pressure to tell what he knew, and he was facing prison time. He might have decided to blackmail Charles' associates to get him out of the country, on his own initiative. Or Charles might have tried in good faith to warn Dunlap to stay away from you, panicked him, and sent him running to his associates with the same result."

"Or he might have sold Dunlap out to his pals," Martha finished bitterly. "I've ruined your investigation, haven't I?"

"No, you haven't. We've got other leads we're following up. One of them is this Christian Whitcomb I asked you about. If you remember anything about him, let me know right away." He kissed her forehead, got up and reached for his cell phone. "I'm going to try to reach Jon. He needs to know about this."

Martha nodded, gathered up her clothing and headed for the bedroom.

Across town Josh Tenney had just finished a grueling questioning session with the DC police. Feeling numb and in need of some distracting activity, he drove to his office and began to review Gene's scheduled court dates for the next month. _What the hell am I going to do, _he wondered, _and where do I start?_ Just as he was about to give up in despair, his cell phone rang.

"It's Susan. Where are you?"

"I'm at the office trying to put the pieces together. Susan, I can't believe this."

"I'm coming over."

"It's nine-thirty. Don't you have an early court session tomorrow?"

"Don't worry, I'll make it. I'm coming over. Tell the guard at the desk you're expecting me." She hung up. Twenty minutes later she swept through the office door and hugged him tightly: "It's gonna be okay, Josh."

"Everything's a mess. I can't figure out where to get started."

"Listen, Josh," Susan said quietly. "You're still in shock. I know this is overwhelming. That's why I'm here. Let me tell you what to do first. Get on the phone, now, and call your associates and tell them you've scheduled an emergency meeting for tomorrow morning. I'll help you with the agenda. You've got to get in touch with Gene's clients and the courts so you can file for postponement of his cases. You'll have to farm some of this stuff out, you can't do it all on your own." She sat him down at the desk. "I'll make us some coffee."

"But the clients expect a named partner to work on their cases," he protested weakly.

Susan looked up from the coffee maker. "You can only do what you can do. Working yourself to death isn't going to help. Besides, you can't tell me Gene did all his cases by himself. He didn't work nearly as hard as you do, and we both know it." She eyed him sternly. "This is more than a two-partner firm, Josh. You have resources. Your associates are there to be used. Use them! We both know some of them are dying to be promoted to partner. Here's a great chance for them to prove themselves. Show them you trust them."

Josh started to perk up. "You're right. If the firm is going to continue I'm going to need other partners."

"And it will continue, Josh. Gene founded it, you can take it to greater things."

"He was a great attorney." Josh shook his head. "I really respected him once. I just don't know where he went wrong."

"He started caring more about fame and money than the law. That's where he went wrong." Susan knelt next to his chair and put her arms around him. "That will never happen to you."

Josh looked at her for a moment, then took her face in his hands and kissed her. When Susan finally got a chance to speak she whispered, "I wondered if you were ever going to get around to kissing me."

"I've been wanting to do that for ages, but the timing never seemed right." He smiled at her.

She leaned her forehead against his for a moment. "Well, Perry Mason, give me one more of those and then start calling your staff. I'll rough out this agenda for you."

Since it was Sunday evening Aaron had no difficulty reaching Cardona. He had seen the news of Dunlap's death and had, in fact, been just about to call Aaron to inform him. After a short discussion, they decided to meet at the Secret Service building for a conference and Aaron left a message for the Attorney General requesting a meeting as soon as possible. Ready to leave, he hesitated for a moment: "I'm sorry, Martha." He gave her a quick kiss.

"It's all right." She held him close for a moment, drawing as much comfort as she could from his presence. "Call me when you hear anything. I love you."

"I love you too. Very much." He stroked her cheek for a moment, looking into her eyes, then headed out the door. Once in the hallway and out of Martha's hearing, Aaron found the Service agent on duty and told him: "Consider this situation high alert until you hear otherwise. Agent Cardona and I will be at the office. If you see any suspicious activity whatsoever, _call us immediately._ Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

Once arrived at Aaron's office, Jon slumped into the guest chair and stared at him wordlessly for about thirty seconds. Finally he said, "I've been kicking theories around the whole way over here. What could have happened."

"Same here."

"Mind if I use you as a sounding board? And then we can analyze."

"Go ahead." Aaron leaned back in his chair, taking occasional notes as Cardona paced the room throwing out ideas. Ten minutes later, he waved the other agent to a halt. "Okay, Jon, let's take a look at these and then we can figure out what to do next." He waited while Jon sat down, now looking more composed than when he had arrived. "First. Dunlap's murder was unrelated to the investigation; could have been random, maybe related to one of his clients or former clients."

"In that case," Jon answered, "it's not our problem. I know some guys on the force I could talk to, but now is not the time to do it. I'd give it a couple of days and then call them up after we see where things are headed."

"I agree. The AG might be able to help out with that as well, but I'd save him for last if you can't get the police to share info with us."

"Okay. Second."

"Second, Dunlap's death _is_ related to the conspiracy. In that case I see three potential leads, the same ones you mentioned. The maintenance worker in Martha's building—"

"Who probably won't be able to tell us much," Cardona interjected.

"I agree, but we have to question him." Aaron continued: "Next, the AG. He's been running the investigation, but he reports to the President. The problem there is, will he agree to share what they know with a couple of Secret Service agents?" He raised an eyebrow at Jon, who rolled his eyes.

"With me? No way! With you, Aaron, they might. They trust you and they know you were involved with everything that happened the day Logan's plan fell apart. You'd have to meet with the AG on your own, possibly even with the President. The AG would have more data, but the President might be more willing to talk to you. Especially if you ask about Number Three."

"Christian Whitcomb." They stared at one another for a moment. "I'd really like to know if he has an alibi for tonight."

"That sends us back to the cops again."

"Mm hmm." Aaron thought for a moment. "Jon, it looks to me as if we have to pursue all these options together. It isn't a case of either/or. And it really isn't our job to solve a DC shooting. We'll have to share what we know and rely on the AG to help us sort it out." Just as he reached this conclusion the phone rang. "Agent Pierce here… yes, sir. Thank you for calling me back. I'm here with Agent Cardona and we have some information related to the death of Counselor Dunlap we thought we ought to share with you."

Overwhelmed with preparations for her trip as well as the news about Dunlap, Martha considered canceling her lunch with Marie and Angie but changed her mind almost immediately. _I can't do that to them_, she thought, _and I need a break anyway_. She found herself considering menu options while picking out her clothes for the tour and finally decided on a pasta dish and salad ("Marie's vegetarian," Angie had explained). Knowing Angie's fondness for barbecue and hamburgers and her laid-back personality, and recalling Aaron's "hyper" description of Marie, Martha could not help wondering how two such opposites had become life partners. Then she remembered that in many respects she and Aaron were also total opposites, laughed at herself for a moment and stopped thinking about it.

The pasta was a success and Martha enjoyed the luncheon more than she thought she would, as she found Marie's company relaxing. Conversation was not a problem; Marie never ran out of things to say. Under her bubbly personality she was also well informed, and the conversation ranged from the latest films to the World Bank to, finally, the death of Gene Dunlap. Marie had once met him at the Smithsonian at an exhibit about the history of American criminal law. "He spoke at the opening," she recalled. "He did a great job. I was expecting another dull speech, because a lot of the people we ask to present at openings just aren't good public speakers, but he wasn't dull at all. He had a lot of good stories, and he made legal history sound really interesting." She did not appear to suspect that Dunlap's death had been anything other than a random carjacking, and Martha saw no reason to share her theory that he had been deliberately murdered. Hoping to gather any further information that might point to Dunlap's killer, she encouraged Marie to continue talking about their encounter. Unexpectedly, Marie's next comment riveted her attention: "Oh, and I forgot! You must have known one of the guests there. Walt Cummings. Wasn't he in charge of things at the White House?"

Martha was inwardly amazed by this coincidence but managed to conceal her interest behind a mournful look. "I knew him very well, and his wife. I trusted him," she added truthfully. Though she'd found him overly controlling at times, Walt had been the only person she could turn to when Charles became exasperated with her. It was he who had persuaded her to enter the "rest home" in Vermont, and in fact he'd visited her there more often than Charles had. Partly at Martha's urging, the Attorney General had agreed to conceal Cummings' involvement in the conspiracy for the sake of his family. "Poor Walt. He was killed the day of the attacks, you know. How horrible to think that Walt and Gene Dunlap are both dead now," she added with a sigh, hoping Marie would keep talking.

Marie needed no urging to tell her more. "Oh, I _know!_" she breathed, eyes wide. "And what's even weirder, they spent a lot of time talking to each other at the reception. My director finally made me go over and separate them so Mr. Dunlap could talk to some of the other guests, but it took a while." She noted that Cummings had seemed reluctant to break off their conversation.

Suddenly an image popped into Martha's mind, a memory of an evening at the White House. It had been yet another meaningless political function held as a "thank you" for influential party members and fundraisers. She had been bored, slightly drunk and without any conversational partners for the moment. She had been trying to avoid Walt Cummings, afraid he'd send her upstairs; being alone with her depression would have been worse than the party. Looking around the room she'd been relieved to see that he was paying no attention to her, as he was deep in conversation with someone she'd been introduced to earlier in the evening. She frowned, trying to remember; yes, Cummings had introduced them. The guest he was speaking to was a man with an odd first name that didn't match his striking, slightly dangerous appearance.

Cummings had been speaking to Christian Whitcomb.

Angie shifted uncomfortably, and Martha realized she'd been staring into space for a moment. "I'm sorry," she apologized, "I was just thinking I'd have to call Walt's wife. I haven't spoken to her lately, and I really need to do that." She quickly brought their desserts to the table and changed the subject to the art collections she and Angie had toured in the Kremlin.

Martha was struck by Charles' appearance as they faced each other through the glass of the prison visiting area. He was looking drawn and tired, as though he hadn't been sleeping well. She had come prepared to interrogate Charles relentlessly, convinced that he had passed the information she'd given him about Dunlap to his co-conspirators; seeing him now, she made a decision to switch tactics.

"I take it you heard the news, Charles?"

"Yes," he answered, almost inaudibly.

"Is there anything you can tell me?"

"Better not." He was glancing around the room warily, clearly worried that someone might overhear their conversation. "I know what you're probably thinking, but I haven't said anything to anyone. No one's been in touch."

Martha sighed, frustrated. She was tempted to ask Charles about Christian Whitcomb, but decided not to risk it; she would take no further chances that might interfere with the AG's investigation. Changing the subject, she asked, "How were your holidays?" She gestured around the room. "Did they do anything?"

He shrugged. "What you'd expect. Turkey, cranberry sauce. Visiting hours were extended. Not that it made any difference to me, I didn't have any visitors," he added bitterly.

Martha was shocked. "Didn't your brother… I thought at least he'd come," she finished lamely, uncertain of what to say.

"Apparently skiing in Aspen was more important to him." He shrugged. "And you, of course, were out of town. California?"

"No, I… I was in Texas," she stammered, unprepared for his question.

He stared at her for a second, then shook his head in disgust. "Oh, for God's sake, Martha. _Texas?_ I can imagine what that must have been like. Did you buy out Neiman-Marcus again?"

"I didn't go anywhere near Neiman-Marcus, actually. But I'll be going there in a few weeks," she added, trying to change the subject. "I did get to do some riding while we were there."

He sighed. "Riding. The ranch." He shook his head. "They're selling off everything, you know. The horses, the property…"

"I know. I miss Suki." She was beginning to wish she had not come. Charles seemed either unwilling or unable to tell her anything, and when she remembered the confidences Aaron had recently shared and the pain he was still suffering, it was difficult to feel any empathy for the man sitting across from her.

"They've got me cleaning toilets." His voice broke into her thoughts. "Sixty cents an hour. It keeps me busy, and the way things are going that may be the only savings I'll have when I get out of here."

"You can always write a book," she answered dryly. "_How I Tried to Subvert the United States Government._"

"Very funny."

"Maybe you could get hired as a consultant. You'll still have contacts in California."

"They wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole. The publicity would ruin them." He shook his head. "Well, I won't worry about it just yet. If I'm still alive in three years I'll count myself lucky."

As a final effort, Martha decided to mention the information Marie had given her at lunch. "Someone was talking to me about Gene Dunlap the other day," she began. "Back before the attacks he was speaking at a function at the Smithsonian, and Walt Cummings was there. Apparently they were having some sort of heavy discussion."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Charles shrugged. "Walt might have had information for him, or he may have been trying to convince Dunlap to do something for us."

"You don't know what?"

"No. All I know is that Gene Dunlap was under orders he didn't dare disobey. When he finally did—" he paused, "you saw what happened." He frowned. "Wait a minute. Walt usually used a go-between, someone who would pass the word along if he needed something done. Why would he have been there himself?"

"He was some sort of guest of honor at the opening, I think."

"That must have been it."

"Charles, you said Walt used someone to help him. Was it always the same person?"

"As far as I know." He gave her a cautious glance. "I've used him myself from time to time. He's very reliable, as long as he gets paid."

"Will you tell me who it is?"

He looked at her suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?"

"Gene Dunlap is dead, but he's not the one who left the notes in my apartment. It must have been somebody else. You said you wanted to keep me safe, Charles. Anything you can tell me might help." She looked at him for a moment. "I know they're going to come back. I just do. And next time it might not be a note, they could be waiting for me."

He thought for a moment and nodded. "If it's him, you could be in trouble, Marty. I said he's reliable, and he is, but he's dangerous. Almost as dangerous as Henderson was, and at least Henderson had a cause he believed in. This guy would do anything for money, pure and simple."

"What's his name, Charles?"

"Christian Whitcomb. You might know him; he's been to some of our fundraisers."

Later that evening, Jon and Aaron stared at each other as Martha finished speaking. "I met Whitcomb once," she added. "I finally remembered. Walt Cummings introduced me to him at a White House reception."

Cardona perked up. "Thank you for telling us. This means we can skip checking the White House security records, Aaron; we know he was there," he added.

Martha's eyes widened: "You mean you know about this man?"

"We know a bit." Cardona looked serious again. "Aaron and I have been talking to the Attorney General and doing a bit of investigation on our own. Right now we have a theory that Christian Whitcomb could have been responsible for the death of Gene Dunlap, but we don't have any proof. I put a call in to some friends of mine on the DC police force to see if we can get more information, but Aaron's going to carry the ball on this while you and I are out of town. The DC force has a liaison officer who works with us and the FBI on federal cases." He paused for a moment. "So Mr. Logan told you he knows Whitcomb?"

"Yes, but I doubt he'd admit it for the record. At first he wouldn't tell me anything. The only reason he gave me the information was to warn me to stay clear of Whitcomb. He said he was dangerous."

"From what we can tell, he was right." Jon looked over to Aaron for a moment. "Aaron, we need to stay in touch. You have the itinerary for the tour?"

Aaron nodded. "I've got it. I'll keep in touch with both of you every day and if I hear anything, I'll let you know."

After Jon left Martha slumped back on the couch. Aaron sat next to her. "All ready?"

"I'm packed, everything is set. Angie's going to meet me here tomorrow morning and Jon will pick us up."

"Nervous?"

"A bit, but I'm excited too. I think it's going to go well, Aaron. I really do." She smiled at him, leaning her head against his chest. "Ann says Jennifer can't wait to meet us in Dallas. She's out of her mind with excitement."

Aaron chuckled. "I'll bet she is. Will you miss me?"

"I'll miss you like crazy." Martha hugged him tightly. "That's the hardest thing about going on this trip. I promise I'll talk to you every day." She hesitated for a moment. "Aaron, I know now is not the time to go into this, but when I get back… would you consider moving in here with me? If you did, we wouldn't have to juggle our schedules every week to spend time together the way we're doing now. I know it would be easier for you."

"I've been giving it some thought," he answered honestly. "Let's talk when you get back, and I'll think about it some more while you're gone. You sure there'd be room for two of us in here?" he added jokingly.

"For you, I'll make room." Martha's face had lit up at his answer; she stood up, took his hand and pulled him up to join her. "Let's go to bed. We both have to be up early tomorrow."

He raised his eyebrows. "How early exactly?" As she started to giggle, he grinned and pulled her toward the bedroom.


	21. Chapter 21

Aaron tossed his briefcase onto the couch and loosened his tie. It was the first night of Martha's tour and he was suddenly struck by how empty and lifeless his apartment felt, though home décor had never been a matter of interest for him. He'd always viewed his home as a haven, a place to relax, despite occasional sarcastic remarks from Angie and Nathan. ("Monasteries are more luxurious than this place," Angie had commented soon after his divorce.) That evening he'd had an administrative meeting scheduled with the Service director, but it had been unexpectedly canceled. Trying not to think of how he and Martha could have spent a free evening if she had been in town, he shook his head impatiently. _I miss her already,_ he thought.

His thoughts drifted back to the first hectic days after Logan had taken office. At the time Aaron had been more concerned with establishing a safe atmosphere in the White House and protecting the new President than with sizing up Logan or the First Lady as individuals. He had heard the gossip that Logan's wife was, as they said, "unstable," and had had a few encounters with her as the wife of the then Vice President. She would not hesitate to disrupt meetings or social events if she was upset about something, and at first this had put him off; in some obscure way it had reminded him of Diane throwing a scene. Gradually he had realized that she was open to reason, and that her moments of acting out occurred only when she was particularly frustrated. She was more supportive of her husband and more sensitive to difficult political issues than he had at first given her credit for. As time went on he had sensed that she was desperate for attention and affection from her husband, and having himself been through a difficult marriage, he began to feel empathy for her. As his respect for her increased, his contempt for Logan increased proportionately. Although he knew as a Service agent that he should not let his personal biases sway him, he had not let this bother him at first; after all, he had experienced a similar situation with Sherry and David Palmer.

When Martha had agreed to be hospitalized, Aaron was forced to question his assumption that he could remain uninvolved; the intensity of his reaction startled him. It seemed remarkably obvious that Logan had taken the easy way out, sending his wife somewhere out of sight to get her off his hands during a particularly shaky moment in his presidency. Her cooperation had initially puzzled him, given that it had taken multiple meetings with Walt Cummings and her psychiatrist to get her to agree to voluntarily admit herself to the hospital. When Logan had come to him and asked him to accompany Martha to Vermont, he had of course agreed.

"It was a mistake," she blurted out several days later. "I shouldn't have come here. I don't know what I was thinking." She was agitated, twisting her hands together and pacing back and forth the length of her suite. "I hate the way these medications make me feel. I thought maybe I could find some peace here, but it isn't working. Everybody's just humoring me, they're not really helping." She came to a stop in front of him. "Except you. I think you're the only one who's actually interested, Aaron." A tear ran down her cheek. "I'm so tired of being treated like a freak." She turned away and stared out the window, clearly trying to gain control of her emotions.

"Mrs. Logan." Ordinarily this was the sort of scene that would have made him intensely uncomfortable, but he felt no embarrassment; he only wanted to comfort her but had no idea what to say. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I don't think so. I don't think there's anything anyone can do." She moved back to the center of the room. "I need to be with Charles. I need my husband. Why won't he come? He promised me he'd visit… and then he sends Walt Cummings." The disgust in her voice was obvious. "Walt says everything is fine and I'm getting better, but I don't _feel_ any better."

"Ma'am, your admission is voluntary. I don't see that there's anything keeping you here if you wish to leave."

"Charles wants me here. That's why I agreed to come in the first place. I haven't been much help to him lately." She bit her lip, trying not to cry again. "He said I needed rest, and I thought he was right. I'm so tired of the speeches, the traveling… it was bad enough when he was Vice President, and now it's even worse." She shook her head and sighed. Now somewhat calmer, she looked at him again: "I'm sorry to be dumping all this on you, Aaron. I don't normally talk about myself or my marriage like this. I must be boring you to tears."

"You're not, Mrs. Logan. If it will help, I'll be happy to listen, but I think talking with your therapist would be more effective."

She shrugged impatiently. "All she wants to do is talk about my mother. She thinks this is all a bereavement reaction." Amy Powell had died two months before her daughter's hospitalization, after a long struggle with cancer; Martha had been close to her mother, her only near relative. "I know that has something to do with it, but it isn't the real problem. No, I'll stay here for now. Walt says Charles will be here soon and I've got nowhere else to go, really. Just promise me you'll stay here, Aaron." They looked at each other for a long moment; he nodded in agreement, and he could see her relax. "I need someone here I can trust. Someone that I know."

Sitting in his living room, Aaron sighed in the half-darkness. From that point on he had been wholeheartedly supportive of the First Lady. No husband had any business leaving his wife unsupported and alone at such a time. Martha Logan could still be difficult, but after guarding her in Vermont he found himself more understanding of her emotional swings, even when they were directed at him. Being followed constantly by the Secret Service was not an easy thing to adjust to, and his insistence that she adhere to protocol had led to a few clashes between them. Unlike Logan, who treated the Service agents like pieces of furniture, she recognized them as human beings and was scrupulous about apologizing when she lost her temper. Ironically, though she was more difficult to deal with than her husband she was better liked by the White House staff.

The qualities he'd always known she possessed had been revealed for all to see after the terrorist attacks. He had feared her ordeal would cause a relapse of her depression, but somehow it seemed to have strengthened her. Looking back on the days that had followed he wondered when it was that he had fallen in love with her. A more honest question, he thought, would have been: when had he admitted to himself that he had fallen in love with her? Supposing it had been Mike Novick who had saved his life, would he have taken the blame for shooting Adams upon himself? Had it been when Martha came to find him after the Palmer funeral and he'd held on to her like a drowning man? Or when he had thought it possible that she might go back to Charles Logan, and been terrified at the very idea?

In the days following Martha's departure Aaron found himself regressing to his old habits and burying himself in work. His first action was to meet with Henry Nunez, the federal liaison officer for the DC police. Officer Nunez had known Cardona for years, dating back to the days when they had worked together on the District's police force before Jon had transferred to the Secret Service. When Aaron requested a confidential conversation outside work, Nunez suggested meeting at a delicatessen halfway between their offices.

"Jon says you're the man." Nunez regarded his sandwich for a moment, leaned back in the booth and shot a fleeting look around the restaurant before returning his gaze to Aaron; he'd picked a seat with a view of the front door and away from the windows.

"He told me pretty much the same about you. You guys worked together a lot?"

"A lot, yeah. He's a good guy. We miss him on the force." Nunez sighed. "Well, I don't have all that much time so we'd best get right to it. Jon told me you're interested in the Dunlap shooting. This guy Whitcomb, you think he might have done it?"

"Might have. We don't have any proof. If I could tell you exactly what made us suspect him I would, but Attorney General Haslett put the brakes on. You know how that goes." Nunez made a face in agreement. "We think Whitcomb was somehow connected with the Logan conspiracy. And he hired Dunlap after being questioned in some shooting that took place about a year and a half ago—"

Nunez nodded grimly. "I remember that case. I worked on it. We suspected Whitcomb, but we couldn't get enough evidence to arrest him, especially with Dunlap blowing smoke in our faces. So you think he killed his own lawyer? Almost makes you want to give the guy a medal, doesn't it?"

"Not quite. We almost had Dunlap ready to talk." He waited as Nunez ingested this, along with a bite of his sandwich. After a pause the officer countered with a question of his own: "How does a Secret Service agent come to be mixed up in a case like this?"

"I didn't ask for it, it just happened. I was in California that day with the First Lady; we were with the Russian President when he got attacked on the way to the airport. I wound up working with one of CTU's agents to try to get Logan to confess that he'd been involved." Seeing doubt on Nunez's face, he went further: "The reason I'm still concerned in it is because Logan's ex-wife may be in danger. You know she helped stop him, everybody does." Now engrossed in Aaron's explanation, the officer nodded eagerly. "It's still our job to protect her. She's been getting threatening messages, and we know somebody got access to her apartment. Jon's in charge of her detail now, but I'm still involved." He left the explanation there, hoping Nunez wouldn't ask further questions. "She's out of town on a speaking tour and Jon's with her. That's why he asked you to meet with me."

"Okay." Nunez looked convinced. "So what is it you want me to do?"

"Have you looked into Whitcomb's whereabouts that night? Or, do you have any leads that might make you think this theory is totally wrong?"

"No leads." Nunez's frustration was obvious. "We've got nothing. No witnesses, no evidence left at the scene, nada. To be honest, that's half the reason I met with you today. Dunlap had a lot of friends in this town. It's pretty funny when a Mafia magnate calls you screaming that nobody's safe in Washington." He raised an eyebrow at Aaron. "They haven't gone so far as to say 'we know where you live,' but I wouldn't be surprised if they did."

Aaron found himself enjoying Nunez's acerbic sense of humor as he continued: "We thought about the possibility that it might have been a setup. He's got an ex-wife—I mean, who doesn't—" he paused as Aaron gave a chuckle of appreciation. "But he was paying her pretty generous alimony, and that's gone now that he's dead. Give her credit, she seemed genuinely sorry the guy had been killed. They'd stayed on pretty good terms since the divorce; she helped him out once in a while when he needed to entertain clients. She said he was a good guy but a lousy husband." He shrugged. "And his law partner, Tenney, seems like a pretty straight arrow. We can't find any reason to think he might have wanted Dunlap dead."

Now looking more serious, Nunez finished his coffee. "To answer your other question, no, I haven't looked into Whitcomb yet. I wanted to talk to you first, Agent Pierce." He gave Aaron an appraising look. "You look like you know what you're doing, and Jon Cardona vouched for you. This isn't going to be easy, going after a guy like Whitcomb with no evidence. He knows a lot of influential people, he can scream 'harassment' any time he wants." He waited for Aaron's nod. "Plus, if you're right and I'm right, he's killed two people that we know of. He probably wouldn't hesitate to kill again if he's threatened."

"I know I'm asking a lot." Aaron spoke in a low tone. "I spent a lot of time talking to AG Haslett about this, and he knows I'm meeting with you. It wouldn't be appropriate for us to horn in on a shooting that's in your territory; on the other hand, it looks like we have most of the information about the motive. He wants us to work together, and you've got his backing. You run into any trouble, you come to me and I'll take it to him. That sound fair?" He waited while Nunez considered and finally nodded agreement.

"We got along fine, Jon." Aaron was reporting to Cardona, who had spent the first several minutes of their conversation complaining about the rain in Seattle. "He admitted he doesn't have any leads right now, and he knows enough about Whitcomb to believe he might have done it. I didn't tell him that Whitcomb was the one threatening Martha. I'm going to pick up the janitor next and have a talk with him."

Ron Slater, the suspect Cardona's investigation had uncovered, had worked on the maintenance staff of Martha's building for nearly six years. So far he had shown no awareness that he was suspected and had continued to show up for work. After thinking over various approaches, Aaron decided it would be best to wait for Slater to leave the building at the end of his shift rather than arresting him on the premises, hoping this would lessen the chance that Whitcomb might learn Slater had been questioned. The Attorney General issued a federal warrant and agreed to make himself available should Aaron require his presence. Realizing the chances were good that Slater would recognize him, Aaron turned to Agent Mitchell for assistance. The younger agent was happy to accompany him to the stakeout.

"Mr. Slater?" Mitchell caught up to Slater as he headed for his bus stop; Aaron was waiting in a parked car further down the street.

"Who are you?"

"Secret Service. You're wanted for questioning." Mitchell flashed his badge. Slater stiffened and backed away as though about to make a run for it, but when Aaron stepped out of the car he realized this would be useless.

"About what? Am I under arrest? You can't do this."

"Actually, we can," Aaron answered firmly. "We're federal officers. And I think you know what this is about. You aren't under arrest but we'd be glad to do that if you'd prefer it. We'll call your wife—" Slater flinched.

"She's about ready to leave as it is. I'll talk to you. Just don't call her." He got into the car without further resistance.

"He came up to me after work one night and told me he was with the FBI. He showed me some ID, said that Logan's wife was being investigated." Slater was slumped over a table looking panicked. Aaron put a cup of coffee in front of him, but he merely stared at it.

"I never heard of the FBI offering people money before." Aaron sat across from him. "Didn't that make you the slightest bit suspicious?"

"He said… he said there was a 'reimbursement account' for witnesses who helped in investigations." Slater was looking sheepish. "When I told him the kind of money I needed, he said he could get it for me, no problem. After that I knew he wasn't legit, but he knew why I was in debt, how much I owed, he knew my wife was about to leave me because of it… he knew my bookie was threatening to beat me up."

Aaron glanced across at Mitchell. "He did his homework."

"He didn't bother to pretend any more after the first money drop. He just said we were helping each other out and if I knew what was good for me I wouldn't tell anybody." Slater shuddered. "That guy scares me more than my bookie does."

"You haven't heard from him lately?"

The caretaker shook his head. "It's irregular. When he needs something he'll call with instructions. Then he might not call again for a month or more."

"Okay, here's what you do. Next time you hear from him, you call us and tell us exactly what he wants and any details about meetings or money drops." Slater looked unsure; Aaron leaned toward him and spoke emphatically. "This is a government case, Slater. It's huge. You get dragged into this and you'll never get out, I guarantee it. Agent Mitchell here is the one you'll stay in contact with. Check in with us once a week."

"I got no other options?" Slater looked desperate.

"Not unless you want to be known across the country as the man who sold out Martha Powell Logan. We're not asking you to return the money, that's not the point. The information you're passing could get her hurt or killed. Do you really want to be responsible for that?"

As the door closed behind Mitchell and Slater, Aaron quickly looked at the two-way mirror posted on the wall behind him and headed for the room next door.

"Well, sir, we didn't get much."

Haslett waved his hand. "We got a confirmation. That's always useful, but you're right, he didn't tell us anything we didn't already know." He thought for a moment. "It looks like this is a dead end. The police are looking into Whitcomb, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"I can't see any other possibilities for now. Can you?"

Aaron hesitated. "I thought of one, sir."

"And what is that?"

"I could go and talk to Charles Logan myself."

"What are you doing here, Aaron? You're the last person I expected to see in this place." Logan was regarding Aaron with unconcealed curiosity as well as caution. He'd been careful to pick a seat removed from the other inmates and was shooting wary glances around the room.

"I'm not really sure." It was as much as Aaron could do to utter the sentence. This was the first time he had seen the former President since their conversation in the stables and he found himself beset by conflicting emotions and thoughts. The thought of David Palmer's murder, committed on Logan's order, infuriated him; memories of Martha under attack in the Presidential limousine were streaming into his mind. Yet as he viewed the man in front of him he suddenly remembered what he had said to Martha when he escorted her to Palmer's lying in state:_ No matter what sentence he gets, he's already lost what he cares about most. The Presidency, and you._ Suddenly calmer, Aaron took a deep breath and willed himself to speak as dispassionately as possible. "Why did you agree to see me?"

Logan looked at him thoughtfully for a second. "Like you, I'm not really sure. I haven't exactly been looking forward to this, but I didn't see any point in refusing." He paused and then added awkwardly, "As you may know, Martha has been good enough to visit. I felt that if you wanted to talk to me it was the least I could do. At least to thank you for allowing her to come."

Aaron felt his hand clench at Logan's assumption that Martha had had to ask his permission. "It wasn't a question of allowing her. I didn't want her to come, but I would never prevent her from doing something she felt she needed to do."

"Is she… well? She's all right?"

"She's fine. She's away on a speaking tour, perhaps she told you about it."

"She did mention it. I've caught her on the news a couple of times. And talk shows…" Logan shook his head. "She used to hate them."

"She's a different person now, Charles." Logan blinked as he registered Aaron's deliberate use of his first name; seeing he'd been knocked off-balance Aaron added, "She's put her life back together, she's doing things for herself she's never done before. Maybe because she was never given the chance."

Logan dropped his gaze to the table. "I'm glad to hear she's doing well, but I'm sure you must have had another reason for coming. Why don't you just tell me what you want?"

"You know what I want, Charles. I want Whitcomb. I want the people who bankrolled your plan." He read disbelief in Logan's eyes but continued, driven to make his case: "You know they've gotten into Martha's apartment more than once. Whitcomb was behind that. I can't prove he killed Dunlap, but I'm 99 percent certain he did. If I were talking to anybody else, I'd appeal to your patriotism, your sense of justice—" he saw Logan bristle at his sarcasm—"but I don't feel like using those words to you. Not after what happened between us. Not after what you did to David Palmer."

The antagonism between them was obvious now, and Logan seemed to gather strength from it. "There's very little I can tell you. I'm stuck in here. Dunlap was my only contact and he's dead. You know all my visitors have to log in; all you have to do is check the records. I don't communicate with the outside world much, and after that kiss-off message Martha brought me, I doubt I'll be hearing from anyone anytime soon. What did you expect?"

"I expected you might be willing to help. After all, it's your lawyer that got killed. Not to mention that Martha could still be in danger."

"I told her to leave Whitcomb alone." Logan was shifting in his chair and starting to look anxious.

"She hasn't gone near him. He's the one that went after her, remember? She found the second note the night we got back from Russia. She showed it to me the next morning and that's when we started investigating."

Logan flinched as he suddenly registered that Aaron had spent that night with Martha, but gave no other response. He seemed to withdraw from the conversation and went back to staring at the desk surface. After half a minute, Aaron prodded him: "Our time is nearly up. Can you at least give me any information that might help the DC police charge Whitcomb?"

"I can't. I don't know him that well. I don't think he usually resorts to killing; he's more the information-gathering type. He knows how to put pressure on people. If he's the one who shot Gene Dunlap, he must have had a reason other than money."

Aaron looked thoughtful. "Dunlap represented him in a murder case once. Maybe Dunlap was the one putting the pressure on him for a change. We know he leaked the information about Martha's trip. We were ready to pull him in and he was desperate to escape. Maybe he tried to get Whitcomb to help him leave the country by threatening to turn him in."

During their discussion Logan had been getting steadily more nervous; now he changed the subject abruptly. "Aaron, leave it alone. There's nothing more I can tell you. I need you not to come back here. I don't think I can help you, but if there's no choice then send Martha. Her visits can be explained, but yours can't. If someone gets access to the visitors' logs and they see you signing in, they'll know what's going on. I can't afford that."

"So you want Martha to run the risk instead?" Aaron asked, indignant.

"Stop it. I am not trying to use her. I am stating a fact. I'd be just as pleased if she didn't come back, if that's what it takes to keep her safe." Logan leaned forward intently. "I care about Martha. I know you despise me, but believe me when I say I don't want her hurt. What happens to her is more important than what happens to me."

"I'm glad to see we agree on something." Aaron glanced over Charles' shoulder. "The guard is coming."

"Aaron. Promise me—" Logan hesitated, took a deep breath and then blurted, "Promise me you'll take care of her."

"I intend to." Aaron pushed his chair back and stood up as the guard tapped Logan on the shoulder; the former President gave him a final glance and then turned around and left the room without a backward look. Aaron registered the slump of his shoulders as he left the room, and then realized something else.

Charles Logan had still been wearing his wedding ring.

Aaron felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach as he thought back to the years he'd continued to wear his ring, even after his divorce. Remembering his disbelief, the feeling of _this can't be happening_, his head spun as he realized that he knew exactly how Logan felt. Somehow he made it to his car, ran the windows down and sat slumped over his steering wheel for long minutes. He hadn't wanted to believe that he could have anything in common with a man capable of ordering the death of a former President or sending his wife off to an asylum when it was too inconvenient to keep her around. For the first time he realized that he understood Logan better than he had ever imagined, and then it struck him that he no longer actively wanted Charles dead. _You can't want someone dead when you know what they're going through_, he thought. Feeling shaken but relieved, he finally managed to start the car.

Driving back into the city, Aaron glanced at the dashboard clock and realized that it was only the middle of the afternoon. Not feeling ready to return to work and at a loss for what to do, he ransacked his memory for undone errands and realized that he had meant to purchase some new shirts. He found himself pulling into the parking lot of the mall he and Angie had visited before Christmas. Shirts in hand, he wandered the mall and finally passed the jewelry store where he and Angie had picked out Martha's Christmas present. Wanting to cheer himself up, he decided to look around and see if he could find anything Martha might like.

"Can I help you, sir?" A smiling sales clerk approached Aaron as he stood staring into the display cases.

"Yes." Suddenly Aaron knew what he was there for. "I'd like to see your engagement rings, please."


	22. Chapter 22

Martha leafed through the final draft of her next day's speech, sighed with irritation and began to drum her fingers on the desk. Her tour was nearly over and she was itching to return to Washington. She felt herself fortunate in that she had met with enthusiastic audiences and in some cases had even been invited back for future speeches, but at the same time she was beginning to feel like a trained dog. Walk onto stage. Smile. Bow. "You are too kind." "This country's true strength is in its people." She winced at the thought of getting onto yet another plane and doing the same thing the next day; it was beginning to feel like the days of campaigning for Charles all over again. _I don't know how actors do it,_ she thought. By now the only thing about the trip she was looking forward to was meeting Jennifer in Dallas.

For perhaps the five hundredth time since leaving Washington she thought of Aaron and how much she missed him. Although they talked and emailed daily, at times it still required superhuman strength for her to resist the impulse to grab the phone and call him several times a day. She knew their separation was just as hard for him as for her; she also knew he was overloaded with work. With Jon accompanying her on the tour, responsibility for the Dunlap investigation had been added to Aaron's normal Service duties. Besides, the tour had been her idea, which meant that complaining about it was not really an option.

Trying to distract herself, she mentally reviewed the arrangements she'd made for Jennifer's stay in Dallas. Their flights had been coordinated so they would arrive at the airport at roughly the same time, and Martha had been in touch with the buyer she knew best at Neiman-Marcus. Her request that he review Jennifer's portfolio had been met with stunned silence at first; negotiating their meeting had required both diplomacy and the promise that she would seriously consider the purchase of a new outfit.

"Oh my God, Martha. We're finalizing the summer line, starting on autumn and you want me to meet your protégée _now_? Do you realize how busy it is here? I am tearing my hair out as we speak." A steady clamor in the background of their conversation bore him out.

"Yes, Neil, I know." Martha knew Neil Roston well; she'd been a steady customer of his for years, dating back to when Charles had been lieutenant governor of California. "But it wouldn't take that long for you to meet with her. Even half an hour would do it. I really think she has talent, and there's no way she can make any contacts in the fashion industry if somebody doesn't help her. She lives about an hour east of El Paso in a small town, and her parents aren't thrilled with the idea of her going into design anyway."

"I see. Well, who's to say they aren't right. The way I feel right now I'd never tell anyone to go into this line of work." He broke off, shouting instructions urgently: "No, no, Natalie. The _orange_! Not the green!"

"You thrive on it. You know you do. You don't have to spend the whole day with her. Get one of your assistants to give her a tour of your department, she'd love that. I just want to know what you think of her style and what her best options are for getting the training she needs."

Neil gave a theatrical sigh. "Well, my dear, for you I'll do it. It's been ages since I've seen you. You must be happy. Or did you give up shopping for Lent?"

"I am happy. I was talking to my ex-husband recently and almost the first thing he asked was whether I'd been on another shopping binge. For once I was able to tell him no."

"Ah, the rat bastard ex-husband. I was delighted when I heard you were divorcing him. No wonder we haven't seen you. The blunt truth is if it weren't for retail therapy as a cure for unhappiness I'd be out of business."

The ex-husband in question was busily cleaning toilets when he was startled by the high-pitched trill of a cell phone. The noise reverberated off the cement walls, making it difficult to locate. Eventually he saw it lying on the sink. Picking the phone up cautiously, he frowned at it for a moment and quickly looked around; no one else was in the bathroom.

"Hello?"

"Mr. President. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Yes, Graem, it has." Charles closed his eyes for a moment, chilled by the realization that his former confederate had found yet another way to communicate with him. "I had no idea you were so resourceful. How did you manage this?"

"It took a little ingenuity. Fortunately I had someone to help me. Remember Christian Whitcomb?"

Logan tensed, but tried to keep his voice calm. "Yes, I do. Very well," he answered casually, determined to volunteer as little information as possible.

"Then you remember how good he is at making friends. Recently he made a new friend at your facility. That's how we managed it. I've been wanting to talk to you for a while now, Charles. May I call you Charles?"

Logan felt his free hand clenching into a fist, but he was determined not to let his annoyance show. "Why not? Everyone around here does," he answered lightly.

"That's the spirit. Well, Charles, it struck me recently that perhaps I haven't been completely fair to you. Especially after the poor showing from Gene Dunlap. He was helpful for a while, but at the first sign of trouble he folded like a house of cards. He was actually ready to turn us in, if you can believe that. That danger is past, but in the process of dealing with it we seem to have deprived you of legal counsel. I apologize for the inconvenience and I'd like to make it up to you if possible."

"I see. So it wasn't a carjacking after all."

"Did you ever think it was?"

"Not really, no." Logan waited a moment and then decided to probe further. "Was this a case of our mutual friend being helpful again?"

"Oh, he's helpful in many ways, Charles. Including checking the visitors' logs. You had a guest from the Secret Service the other day."

"I told him nothing. Our conversation was mostly on personal matters."

"I can imagine. The two of you having as much in common as you do." Graem sounded amused, which infuriated Logan even more.

"Maybe you'd better get to the point. Someone could come in here at any minute. What's this favor you're offering me?"

"Yes, of course. Well, for starters I think I can get you transferred to a lower-security prison. There's a better class of people there, and I think life would generally be more pleasant for you. Then there's the matter of the financial support you requested. You've been loyal to us, and loyalty ought to be rewarded. Don't you think?"

"I do." Charles found himself beginning to relax. "That's very kind of you, Graem, and I appreciate it."

"There's just one thing. This investigation has to be stopped. Your ex-wife and her significant other came a little too close to the truth."

"I told them to stay out of it. Every opportunity I've had I told Mar—my wife to let it alone. I told Aaron Pierce the same thing."

"Ex-wife. And unfortunately, they aren't listening."

"Can you blame them? With Christian breaking in and leaving her notes—" Charles broke off, realizing he'd told Graem more than he'd intended.

"So. They know it was Christian? Did they find out through you?"

"No, not through me. They figured it out for themselves, I'm not sure how. Graem, listen to me, please. All you have to do is leave her alone and they'll let it drop. If you can promise me she's in no danger that's all you have to do. I'll take it from there. Just tell Christian to stay away from her."

There was an icy silence on the other end of the line. "This doesn't bode well, Charles."

"I have been loyal. I will continue to be loyal. But my loyalty has limits, and Martha is one of them. If she is placed in any danger at all, the agreement is off. I mean it, Graem." Logan's voice was low but intense. "I think somebody's coming. I have to go."

"Hide the phone behind one of the toilets. I'll be talking to you, Charles." The line went dead.

"_Aunt Martha!"_ Jennifer hugged Martha tightly, practically shrieking with glee. "I'm so glad to see you! Thank you so much. I can't believe you talked Mom and Dad into letting me come." She gestured to her shoulder bag. "I've been working on my portfolio ever since they said I could."

Angie raised an eyebrow and murmured, "'Aunt Martha'?" Noticing her employer was starting to blush, she stepped forward and held out her hand. "Hi. I'm Angie Johnston, Ms. Powell's assistant. I used to know your parents way back when." They shook hands and Martha indicated Jon, who'd been glancing around the waiting area at the gate as if he were expecting someone. "This is Agent Cardona. He's in charge of my security."

"You mean like Uncle Aaron used to be?" Jennifer smiled at him.

Jon grinned cheerfully back. "That's exactly right. And speaking of your Uncle Aaron, you might want to turn around," he added with a meaningful nod towards Martha.

Puzzled, Martha obeyed. As she recognized the man standing behind her she gave a shriek very much like the one Jennifer had given a few minutes before: _"Aaron!"_ was the only word she managed before disappearing into his arms. Angie stared wordlessly at Jon Cardona, who was chuckling with satisfaction. "He made me swear I wouldn't tell anyone," he explained. "He wanted it to be a surprise."

Angie shook her head in amazement. "I've never seen him do anything like this before."

"Neither have I."

In the meantime Aaron had bestowed a hug on his niece, who was jumping up and down with excitement. Taking Martha's carry-on bag from her, he smiled at Cardona. "Okay, Jon, let's go." They headed for the baggage claim area.

Once ensconced in the limo, Aaron leaned back and put his arm around Martha. "So what's your schedule for today?" he inquired. Angie, referring to her list, answered: "Neiman-Marcus is first, the reception starts at five, Martha's speech is at six."

"Are you tired of talking yet?" he inquired dryly.

"Yes." As her monosyllabic answer sank in, Aaron started to laugh; Martha grinned and added, "I'll be glad when this is over." She snuggled her head into Aaron's shoulder. "Do you know how much I've missed you?"

"I think so. I've missed you just as much." He glanced over to Angie. "What do you think?" he inquired under his breath, indicating his niece. Jennifer was now talking animatedly to Martha and did not realize that she was the object of scrutiny.

"I can't stop looking at her, Aaron. I see some of Bill in her, but I see some of Ann, too." She shook her head. "I can't believe Bill's got a kid old enough to graduate high school."

Aaron grimaced. "That makes two of us."

Neil Roston was looking distracted when Martha and her group arrived. "We've got a show to put on tomorrow, with the usual number of last minute crises," he explained, clearly pressed for time. Martha worried for a moment that Jennifer might be intimidated by his impatience, but she was pleasantly surprised when Jennifer sized up the chaotic atmosphere with a glance and introduced herself politely but briefly. She opened the portfolio and stood calmly nearby while Roston flipped through it. He paused, turned back and went through some pages with focused attention.

"Your accessories are very good," he commented. "This skirt reminds me of something we're showing tomorrow." He leaned back and surveyed her. "Who have you worked with? Anyone?"

"Just my high school teacher. But I catch as many shows on cable as I can, and I read a lot."

"You live near El Paso, Ms. Powell told me." He waited for her answering nod, then went on: "As you know, the main design centers in this state are all located in either Dallas or Houston. That's where the best schools are as well. This portfolio—" he tapped it for emphasis—"could get you into any one of them. You do good work." He smiled for a moment as he watched Jennifer's face light up. "You need training, but who doesn't when they're starting out? I could recommend some schools for you to apply to, and you're welcome to use my name if you interview." He handed her his card. "I'm glad I got the chance to see your work. I've got to get back to managing this show, but I'm going to have my assistant give you a tour. _Natalie!_" As the assistant prepared to lead Jennifer away, Roston turned back to Martha. "Now, my dear, about that ensemble I set aside for you."

"I'll go with Jennifer," Angie quickly volunteered. "I'd love to take a look around." Martha smiled to herself, remembering that shopping for clothes was definitely not Angie's idea of entertainment.

Neil gave Aaron a quizzical look. "And you, sir?"

"I think I'll stick around. This ensemble you mentioned sounds interesting." He smiled warmly at Martha; Neil intercepted the look and interpreted it correctly. "It is just perfect for her and I think you're going to love it. Come along, my dear." He gestured Martha to a makeshift changing area set up in one corner, shooing a model or two out from behind it.

"Have pity on me, Neil. I'm not a 'rich bitch' any more."

Roston chuckled evilly for a moment, then relented. "It's not that expensive, Martha, I promise. And you were absolutely right about your little protégée. She's gifted indeed. It's a pleasure to see someone with that much natural talent. I didn't want to promise her this, but once she graduates from design school I think I could find a place for her here. Now, try this on for me." He rolled a small rack in behind the changing screen and stepped back. "Who is that delicious fellow escorting you?"

"His name's Aaron Pierce. He's someone I've been seeing for a while." Martha finished changing and stepped out from behind the screen.

"Ah, it looks just as good as I thought it would. Let's see what Mr. Pierce thinks of it." Roston gave a few tweaks to the jacket and stepped back, watching with satisfaction as Aaron shot to his feet.

"It's fantastic, Martha. He's right, it's perfect for you." The appreciation in his eyes was all Martha needed to see; she turned to Roston with a mock sigh of defeat. "I'll take it, Neil."

Martha delivered her speech that night with more zest than she'd had in days, knowing Jennifer and Aaron were in the audience. It was well received, and they celebrated with a late dinner in the hotel restaurant.

"So the tour's been going well, then?" Aaron inquired of Angie.

"Really well. We've gotten enough enquiries to do another one of these in six months, easy." Angie laughed at Martha's horrified look. "Well, a year. The talk shows liked her, too."

"My mom recorded your shows for me, Aunt Martha," Jennifer contributed. "They were really good. Grandma Pierce saw them, too."

"Did your grandmother like them?" Martha inquired.

"I think so. She watched them twice, so she must have. And Aunt Barbara told everybody at church." She giggled as Martha blushed. "Tomorrow's going to be fun."

"Well, that's one word for it," Angie agreed dryly. She raised an eyebrow at Aaron, who grinned back at her. "Ann, Bill and Barbara all know you're coming," he explained. "They know you work with Martha now. We've both been talking to them—" he looked at Martha, who nodded in confirmation—"and everything's going to go fine. Just relax." Glancing over to Jennifer, he added: "Your mother told me you had homework to do."

"Well, I do," Jennifer agreed reluctantly. "My teacher gave me an essay I've got to finish." As she rose from the table, Angie joined her. "I have paperwork to do myself. See you in the morning." She touched Aaron on the shoulder and added, "Thanks."

Aaron escorted Martha back to her room. "Are you coming in?" she asked teasingly at the door.

"I think so." He smiled back at her and switched on the light, revealing a half-bottle of Champagne waiting on the corner table in a bucket of ice, along with two glasses.

"Oh, Aaron, you didn't have to do this!"

"I wanted to. I wanted tonight to be special, and this is our first chance to really talk since I got here. I've got a lot to tell you."

"Is everything all right, Aaron? Is this about the investigation?"

"Everything's fine. And no, it isn't. It's about something much more important than that." He gestured her to the sofa, sat next to her and handed her a glass of Champagne.

"I went to see Charles last week," he began. "I told myself I was going there to ask him about the case, but that wasn't the real reason. I went because I knew I had to go. I had to come to terms with what happened, and that was the only way I could do it." He paused and looked at her. "I thought a lot about what you told me, and the truth is you were right. I don't hate him now. I didn't realize what a burden I'd been under until after I'd seen him." Martha had set her glass aside and was holding his hand tightly. "It isn't holding me back any more, but if it weren't for you…" He searched for words and then shook his head. "You'll never know how much you mean to me."

Martha slid her arms around his neck and held him close. "I'm so glad, Aaron," she whispered. "You look better, somehow. I'm so glad you told me."

He kissed her. "The last two weeks without you taught me something. I missed you more than you can imagine, and I want to be with you all the time. I'm ready to move in with you any time you want. But I want to ask you something first." Reaching into his pocket, he handed her a small box. "Open it."

The flash of diamonds as she opened the box stunned her; she stared at him wordlessly.

"I knew someday I'd ask you to marry me. I told myself it was too soon, that you weren't ready, but the truth is I was the one who wasn't ready. Now I am. Will you—"

"Yes."

He gazed at her anxiously. "You're sure?"

"You have no idea how sure I am." She traced her fingers lightly over the side of his face. "Life without you… I don't even want to think about it." She handed him the ring. "Put it on for me, Aaron."

Five minutes later, the Champagne still untouched, she lifted her head from his shoulder and whispered, "Can we tell Jennifer now? And Angie?"

"You mean, right now?"

"Right now. I want to tell everybody in the world."

Graem Bauer stared absently out the window of his study at the setting sun. Coming to a decision, he picked up his phone and quickly dialed a number.

"Yes?"

"It's Graem, Christian." Noting music in the background, he added, "Where are you?"

"You'll never guess. I'm at a fundraiser for Hal Gardner. He's decided to run for election. Of course he doesn't have a chance, but I thought I might as well show my support for the home team. He should be paying _me_ to be here, considering the favor we did him—"

"Keep your voice down. This is no time for jokes, Christian. Are you somewhere you can't be overheard?"

"Yes. Is this another assignment?"

"No, just a warning. Your mission with the cell phone was successful, and I talked to our friend yesterday. He gave me some disturbing information."

"And what is that?"

"His ex-wife knows about you. That means we have to assume the Secret Service knows you're the one who's been getting access to her apartment."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Anything else?"

"He guessed you were responsible for the incident involving his attorney."

"You're right. That is disturbing. I haven't noticed anything. No inquiries, no one's been following me that I know of."

"That doesn't mean it won't happen. I want to give Logan the benefit of the doubt. He's proved himself so far and kept his mouth shut. He's done better than I thought he would, certainly better than that idiot Dunlap. His only weak point is his ex-wife. He's still devoted to her, God knows why."

Whitcomb shrugged. "Guilt, probably. I've never let it bother me, but it's certainly a powerful motivator for some people." He looked around. "I've got to get back to the party. Is there anything you want me to do?"

"Just be prepared. We may have to move quickly on this. If you can make arrangements, I'll need to talk to Logan again."

"You got it. And thanks for the heads up." Whitcomb snapped his phone shut, picked up his drink and quietly merged back into the crowd surrounding Beth Gardner.


	23. Chapter 23

"All right, everybody in?" Aaron slammed the car trunk, quickly checked to see that Angie and Jennifer were settled into their places and signaled to the agents waiting in the car behind him. He handed Martha the map. "Shotgun gets to be in charge of directions," he smiled as he started the car.

The drive from the El Paso airport to the Pierce ranch took a little over an hour. Still on a high over her success at Neiman-Marcus, Jennifer accounted for most of the conversation during the trip. She sifted excitedly though the information she'd been able to download about some of the design schools Neil had mentioned; when this entertainment palled, she demanded a re-inspection of Martha's engagement ring. Curled up in the opposite corner of the back seat, Angie regarded her benignly but was silent for most of the trip. Occasionally she stared out the window.

"Aunt Martha, can I help design your gown?"

"_Gown?_" Martha was startled. "We haven't thought that far ahead yet."

"We're going to get married at City Hall in blue jeans," Aaron contributed with a poker face. Seeing Jennifer's reaction to this, Martha giggled.

"He's teasing you, Jen. We'll do no such thing." Suddenly struck by an idea, she turned to Aaron more seriously. "We have to find out when Nathan gets leave before we can start planning. We haven't even told him yet."

Aaron nodded in agreement. "I'll email him as soon as we get home. You're right, he's got the tightest schedule of any of us."

As they turned into the Pierces' driveway, Martha quickly cautioned Jennifer, "Jen, let your uncle be the one to break the news about our engagement, okay? We've got to say hello to everybody first, and so does Colonel Johnston." A moment later the entire Pierce clan began pouring out of the kitchen door, vividly reminding Martha of her first visit at Christmas. Aaron's last-minute decision to join Martha on the trip had left him without time to tell his family he was coming, and they greeted him with delighted surprise. As the family surrounded Aaron and Jennifer, Martha was careful to position herself next to Angie and tried to reassure her with a smile. Angie gave her a nervous look in response.

"Aaron, this is great! We didn't expect to see you—" Bill began, then broke off to hug his daughter. "Did you have a good time, honey?"

Jennifer's face lit up. "It was wonderful, Daddy. We got to tour the store and Aunt Martha's friend said he liked my designs." Her brothers dashed up, greeted her boisterously and then at their father's instruction began to help Aaron with the luggage; Aaron nudged his brother and murmured, "She's here, Bill."

Bill looked up. "Angie? Angie Johnston?" He started across the driveway, but before he could greet her Ann had already thrown her arms around her long-lost classmate. "I can't believe you're here, Angie! It's so good to see you."

"Ann Rivers!" Angie returned her hug with tears in her eyes and then stood back, shaking her head in disbelief. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Well, neither have you, Angie. Bill!" she called, but Bill was already standing next to them.

"Angie girl," he said with a slow smile, reaching out his hand. "We're glad you're here. Welcome to our place."

Angie tentatively took Bill's hand, smiled at him for a moment and then embraced him. "Bill, thank you. It's good to be home. How long has it been?" she asked shakily.

"Too long, Angie. Much too long." Bill patted her on the back. "The Pentagon was good to you? Aaron's kept us up to date on what you were doing."

"Oh, the Army was great. I really enjoyed it. I left there about a year ago, and I've been working with Martha ever since she left the White House. Aaron recommended me," she added with a smile.

Martha confirmed this: "I wouldn't last a day without her, Bill."

Meanwhile Jennifer had rescued her portfolio from her well-meaning brothers' clutches. Holding it carefully under her arm, she began to head into the house but then realized that the rest of her family was still standing in the driveway. She turned and watched her parents in surprise. "Uncle Aaron, how well do Mom and Dad know Colonel Johnston?" she asked.

"Pretty well. It's a long story, Jen. Let's just say that Angie left town after she graduated from high school, and she hasn't been back since." Jennifer looked intrigued but asked no further questions.

By this time Barbara had joined the group and was greeting everyone. "How did your speech go last night?" she began, but broke off and seized Martha's hand, staring at the ring on her finger. "Martha? What's this?" she gasped. Unable to speak, Martha nodded as her eyes began to fill with tears of happiness. Barbara shrieked with joy and hugged her again. "Aaron, you dog! You could have told us!" she shouted, running toward her brother.

"You didn't give me a chance, Barb—" Aaron began, but was cut off with a bear hug.

Still standing next to Angie, Bill was bewildered by the sudden excitement. "What in the—what's going on?" he asked, watching astounded as Ann hugged and congratulated Aaron and Martha in turn.

"They're engaged, Bill," she explained. "He asked her to marry him last night."

"Well, I'll be!" Stunned, Bill shook his head and then started to grin. "That's fantastic. I wonder what Mother's going to say?"

Angie raised an eyebrow. "That's the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn't it?" They both turned back to the house as Mrs. Pierce slowly descended the steps. As she saw Aaron, her face lit up and she moved forward. They embraced; Aaron shot a quick glance at Martha, took her hand and said, "Mother, we have something to tell you. Martha and I are getting married."

The afternoon was crowded with activity; Gertrude and Ann immediately started preparations for a welcome-home dinner. Aaron introduced Cardona as his co-worker and friend, and immediately Jon found himself swept into the family group. "We were both involved in the attack on the embassy," Aaron explained. "He and Angie saved Martha's life." If there had been any doubt that Angie would be accepted by the Pierces upon her return, this dispelled it; Ann and Barbara immediately treated her like a hero and Bill insisted on taking Angie and Jon on a tour of the ranch. Hoping to avoid a one-on-one conversation with Gertrude Pierce, Martha decided to go with them.

"Got a new horse, Martha. Jennifer named her Candy. Tell me what you think of her." Angie and Martha exclaimed in admiration over the mare as Bill led her out of her stall, petting her and calming her with soothing words. Jon looked apprehensive and backed up several feet as Candy shifted nervously.

"You're not a horse man, Jon?" Bill remarked with a grin.

"I'm from Brooklyn, Bill. We didn't see too many horses growing up." Jon eyed the mare and put out a cautious hand, which Candy greeted with a snort. "She's very pretty," he added, trying to recoup some measure of favor with his host.

"That she is. We're hoping she'll produce some pretty babies for us." Bill put Candy back in her stall and they prepared to return to the house. "If you've got time, Martha, you might take her for a ride later and tell me what you think."

"I'd love to, Bill. Angie can go with me," she added in a reassuring whisper to Cardona, who did not look pleased at the idea of escorting Martha on a ride.

After dinner the party separated into groups. Jennifer, surrounded by an admiring group of younger siblings and cousins, described her trip to Dallas in detail; the women headed to the kitchen to clean up; and the men, shooed away by Ann, gathered in the den. No one seemed particularly interested in turning on the television. "You still play poker, Aaron?" Bill inquired idly.

"It's been a while, but sure. Where do you keep the chips?" Aaron hunted in the cupboard Bill indicated, emerging with a deck of cards and a chip rack. Turning to set them on the card table Bill had set up, he caught Jon's wistful glance. "Sit in with us, Jon. I've talked to the local police. They know Martha's here and they're keeping an eye out. I've worked with them before; nothing's going to happen tonight."

"Don't mind if I do, Aaron. Thanks a lot." Jon grinned, took off his suit coat and loosened his tie.

Bill's face lit up. "Great! I'll get us some drinks. Just a minute." He dashed off to the kitchen, returning with cups and several bottles of soda; Ann followed him with a bowl of ice and a stack of napkins. "Use the coasters, honey," she reminded him, setting them out on the table. "Would you all like some snacks later?"

"Sounds great. Thanks, Ann." Bill gave her a kiss on the cheek, sat down and started shuffling the cards with gusto. "I better warn you, Jon, Aaron's pretty good at poker. He could always bluff the heck out of us back in the day."

"I'm out of practice, Bill, you've got nothing to fear from me," Aaron responded with an innocent look. Bill raised a skeptical eyebrow as he dealt the first hand.

At first the demands of the game kept conversation to a minimum, but after the first few minutes the three men started to relax. Politely, Bill turned his attention to their guest: "So, Jon, has the trip gone well?"

"Very well, I think. Certainly from my end there haven't been any problems. Security's been great and there wasn't a hitch in any of the arrangements for Ms. Powell that I could see. I have to give credit to Colonel Johnston for that, she's incredibly efficient."

Bill nodded. "Sounds good. My wife and my mother have been reading everything about the tour they could get their hands on. They even got me to order some of the Dallas and Houston papers, Aaron. We taped all the shows she did on TV. Martha sounded pretty impressive talking about that Third World economic stuff. You know I don't understand a thing about it. Raise you five," he added, throwing in a chip.

In the kitchen Ann removed her apron and tossed it on the counter. "Barbara's getting her kids ready to go home," she announced, "and the boys are playing poker. I promised them some snacks later but that can wait a bit." She sat down at the kitchen table with a sigh of relief. "Tomorrow we should go by the high school, Angie. You wouldn't recognize the place. The county funded a big renovation project for it about five years ago and the PTA helped raise money for a new science lab. Remember Miss Anderson?"

"From English class? I sure do." Angie smiled reminiscently. "She was tough as nails, Martha. We were all nervous wrecks before one of her tests."

"Well, she and Mr. Churchill ran off and got married a few years after you left. They're both still at the school and Miss Anderson is the principal now. Only she's Ms. Anderson, she kept her maiden name."

"Mr. Churchill, the biology teacher?" Angie was clearly astounded. "They got married? I can't believe it."

"It was a nine-days' wonder around here, believe me. Everybody was talking about it. What else is there for me to tell you?" Ann leaned back in her chair, frowning. "We should get Barbara in here, she's the one that knows all the good gossip."

Angie started to laugh. "She always did. Wait, I know. What happened to Ray Wynn? Martha told me his dad still runs the motel in town. Did he and Sue Watkins ever get married?"

"Yes, they did, but she practically had to drag him to the altar…"

With Ann and Angie happily embarked on a series of reminiscences Martha took advantage of their distraction and slipped out of the kitchen, hoping for a few moments to herself. She decided to step out on the patio for a breath of air and was struck by the beauty of the night sky; in the darkness of the country it seemed that twice as many stars were visible as usual.

Suddenly a voice came from behind her: "Hello, Martha." Peering through the darkness, Martha recognized Gertrude Pierce sitting on the porch glider. "I'm sorry," she stammered, surprised. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I didn't know anyone was here."

"Please, don't apologize." As Martha moved closer she saw a mass of yarn in the older woman's lap. "I like to sit out here with my crochet. It gives me some time to myself and I seem to get more done that way. Why don't you sit down?"

Martha did so, murmuring her thanks. Dreading an awkward silence, she wondered for a moment how to start the conversation, but Gertrude forestalled her. "You and Aaron both look very happy," she commented calmly.

"We are, thank you. Our engagement must have come as a surprise to you," Martha ventured.

Gertrude smiled slightly. "Not as much as you think. Aaron told me at Christmas that he wanted to marry you."

Martha stared at her. "He did?"

"He was certain of it, said it was only a question of time before he asked you. And I could see that he was happy. I hadn't seen him like that for a long time. Since…" Gertrude hesitated. "Since before his marriage broke up."

"I know the divorce was hard on Aaron. He's talked to me about it. But it must have been hard on you, too."

"It was." Gertrude sighed. "I imagine you're wondering why Diane and I are still close." She leaned back with a reminiscent look on her face. "Diane's mother and I were good friends. We grew up together right here in town. I was almost a second mother to Diane. She and her father didn't get along, and she spent a fair amount of time at our house. When she and Aaron decided to get married, her mother and I were thrilled. They seemed so well matched, I was sure their marriage would last. But then they moved to Washington," she paused, "and things didn't go too well after that. When Diane left Aaron for good, I was one of the first people she told. She said she wanted me to hear it from her and not second hand. She was very forthright about it, said she knew I had to be disappointed and that she was sorry. I kept hoping they'd get back together some day, but they never did."

There was silence between them for a few moments. Then Gertrude added quietly, "I tried to be there for Aaron as much as I could, but he shut down after she left. He wouldn't talk to me, or Bill, or anybody else." She stole a glance at Martha. "Bill and Barbara are more like their father, but Aaron's more like me. I knew he was going through a hard time. He doesn't always show what he feels, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care."

"I know how much Aaron cares. I know he feels things deeply. I learned that the day of the attacks. What we went through was horrible, but it taught us more about each other than we could have learned any other way. And since then he's always made sure I know how he feels." As Martha met the other woman's gaze she added impulsively, "I know what he's been through, and I promise you he is never going to be hurt because of me. I want to make him happy."

Gertrude nodded. "Thank you. That's all I need to hear." The atmosphere between them suddenly softened, and they both relaxed for a few moments.

"Aaron's going to email Nathan so we can start planning," Martha commented next. "We need to know his schedule, and Jennifer wants to help design my gown." Gertrude chuckled for a moment but then, struck by the implications of what Martha had just said, she asked: "Do you mean you'd like to get married here?"

"Yes, I would. If my mother were still alive, I'd want it to be in California. But she died almost three years ago." Martha was silent for a moment. "I really wish she could have met Aaron. I think they would have liked each other a lot." Martha's voice shook for a moment.

"You were close, then?"

"Very close. She helped keep me grounded when Charles' political career got started. When the pressure started getting to me she could always talk me down. It was after she died that things got too much for me to handle. I didn't have her to talk to anymore… I can't tell you what a loss it was."

"I understand. When my husband died it left a huge gap for me, too."

"Nathan told me that Diane was a big help to you after that happened."

"She was. Bill and Ann were wonderful, they asked me to move in with them right away, but I fought it. I wanted to be independent as long as I could. Diane really stepped in for me. Nathan had left home by then, she'd moved back here, and she just had more time to help. It worked for a while, but my arthritis was getting worse and I just couldn't keep asking her for help. I had a few falls and I realized the safest thing was for me to sell the house and move in with Bill and Ann before I got hurt. It's worked out well, but I miss my independence sometimes and I worry that my being here isn't fair to them." Gertrude shook her head. "Where is Aaron, by the way?" she asked in a clear attempt to change the subject.

"He's playing poker with Bill and Jon Cardona. I think they're enjoying having a boy's night out," Martha added with a grin.

"I'm sure they are," Gertrude said, laughing affectionately. "Bill and Aaron don't get to see each other much these days, but they sure enjoy it when they do."

"We've talked about moving back after Aaron retires." Martha had a feeling that she was committing herself by saying this, but as Gertrude's face lit up she felt rewarded.

"Would you really consider doing that, Martha?"

"Yes, I would. California's too expensive, and we don't have the ranch property any more. Not that either one of us would want to live there now," she added, repressing a shudder. "I don't think Aaron would want to stay in Washington after he retires any more than I do. And I know he misses Texas, I could see that at Christmas. He misses all of you. It's nice to feel like you're part of a family," she added shyly. "I know why he wants to come back."

"I'm so glad you feel that way, Martha," Gertrude said with evident relief. "I think we all thought you'd be bored. We didn't know what to expect."

"Bored, here? With Jennifer, and Ann, and Barbara, and everything that's going on in town…" Martha shook her head. "It's not all that different from Washington, really. It's on a smaller scale, but the same sorts of things go on. Who you know, who's arguing with who, what you need to get done—the more I think about it, the more it's exactly like Washington." Martha was relieved to see Gertrude laugh in understanding. "And besides, I told Aaron that it doesn't matter what my home base is. I can travel from anywhere, if I have to."

"You've been very good to Jennifer, Martha. We've all noticed." Gertrude responded with her own tangent. "And Angie Johnston—it's good to see her again. Bill went through a hard time when she left, but after seeing Aaron and Diane break up, I know it could have been worse. And Bill and Angie were so much alike. I think Ann is a better balance for him." Martha nodded, deciding for the sake of family peace that there was no reason to explain Marie as part of Angie's life for the moment.

"Mother?" Barbara stepped out on the patio. "I'm just leaving—" she looked surprised and pleased to see Martha chatting with her mother. "Ann wondered where you'd got to! Martha, you'll still be here tomorrow?" she added hopefully.

"In the morning. Our flight leaves late afternoon."

"Good, that'll give us time to take you around town. Angie wanted to see some of the old places we used to hang out in."

"Mitchell, is that you?" Aaron was struggling with his cell phone's reception.

"Yes, sir. I wanted to let you know I talked to the janitor today. Slater. He told me something I thought you should know. Christian Whitcomb contacted him. He wanted access—" Mitchell's voice was drowned in static.

Aaron quickly redialed the number, but had to desist as the announcement came over the airport's PA system: "Now boarding for Houston and Washington-Dulles, first class only…" He caught Martha's questioning glance, shrugged and hurried to join her in line, turning off the phone.


	24. Chapter 24

Aaron pulled his phone from his pocket and checked his voicemail as soon as the plane touched down in Houston. He frowned as he listened, then quickly redialed Mitchell's cell number, glancing at Jon as he did so. "I'll be right back," he whispered to Martha as he stood up and headed for the jetway. Standing off to the side, he eyed the passengers absently as they filed off the plane and closed his eyes in relief when Mitchell picked up.

"Mitchell, it's Pierce. I got your message. What's happening?"

"Sir, Slater told me that Whitcomb contacted him this morning. He wanted copies of the keys to Ms. Powell's building. Slater put him off for the moment, but he isn't sure what to do and Whitcomb's putting a lot of pressure on him. I told him I'd call him later today."

Aaron thought for a moment. "We might be able to use this. If we give Whitcomb access and he enters Ms. Powell's apartment, we'd have what we need to arrest him. But he must know by now the Service is watching her. What could he need the keys for?" he asked, almost to himself.

"I don't know, sir, but I need to know what to tell Slater."

"Tell him—tell him to supply Whitcomb with the keys. I'll make arrangements for Ms. Powell to stay elsewhere," Aaron replied rapidly as the pilot gestured him to leave the jetway.

"We moved up the boarding time. The other passengers will be coming on in the next few minutes," one of the flight attendants whispered to Aaron as he re-entered the plane.

"Thank you. Is there somewhere I can talk with my colleague? How about here?" he added, pointing into the small food preparation area directly ahead of him.

"Right this way." The attendant ushered Aaron into the galley and pulled the curtain; a moment later a confused Cardona joined him.

"Aaron, what's going on? Is there something wrong?"

"Yes, there is. I just talked to Mitchell and it looks like things are starting to move. Whitcomb is blackmailing Slater to give him copies of the keys to Martha's building."

"Oh, my God. There goes our contact."

"No, I told Mitchell to give Slater the go-ahead. I want him to give Whitcomb those keys." Cardona responded with a smothered exclamation, but then thought for a moment.

"You're giving him rope to hang himself?"

"I am. It's just what we need."

Jon looked apprehensive. "Who's going to tell Ms. Powell about this?"

Aaron sighed. "I am, Jon. It's a good thing you and Angie are here, maybe that way she won't kill me," he muttered, pulling back the galley curtain. Jon's sardonic chuckle followed him down the aisle as he headed back to his seat.

He was greeted with anxious looks from both Angie and Martha. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, but there's been a change in plan," he began, taking Martha's hand. "Nothing serious, I just had an idea. You know you've always wanted to see where I live."

"Yes…" she responded, confused.

"Well, I think it's time you did. I want you to stay with me tonight for a change. You don't need to worry; we'll send some agents over and they can keep an eye on things."

Martha jerked his hand from his grip. "All right, what's going on? You always said it was too much of a security risk for me to stay with you."

Aaron knew there was no point in sidestepping the truth. "We know how Whitcomb's been able to get access to your apartment, Martha. He's been blackmailing one of the building's service staff. Mitchell just told me that Whitcomb requested copies of the keys to your apartment from his contact." Aaron took a deep breath. "We're giving him the keys."

For a moment Martha looked as though she were about to explode; then, trading looks with Angie, she made a visible effort to remain calm. "And _why_ are you giving him the keys?"

"Because we want to catch him in the act of breaking in. Then we can arrest him." He paused, hoping this argument would convince Martha; what he got in response was a raised eyebrow. "And whose brilliant idea was this?"

Jon met Aaron's eyes with a rueful smile. "Ms. Powell, Aaron and I have discussed this. I agree with him that this is our best chance of getting enough evidence to press charges against Whitcomb. Right now we have a sound theory that he's responsible for Dunlap's death, but nothing that would hold up in court. Neither one of us is thrilled about giving him access to your apartment but I honestly don't have any other ideas."

Martha stared skeptically at Jon for a moment before settling back in her seat. "Please go on, Agent Cardona," she invited coolly. Jon blinked for a moment and then continued cautiously: "This investigation has taken some time. Everyone who works in your building has been checked on. We identified a likely suspect and checked his phone records; that led us to Whitcomb. While we were out of town, Aaron met with this guy and made him understand that his only way to avoid prosecution was to pass his information along to us. He called Agent Mitchell today to report that Whitcomb was demanding those keys. As long as we know what Whitcomb is planning we can protect you by staying one step ahead of him, and it gives us a better chance of putting him away for good. If we can get him he might even be willing to cut a deal that would lead us to the heads of the conspiracy – the men who were working with your ex-husband."

After thinking for a moment Martha looked at Angie. "I can't argue with that reasoning. Can you?" she inquired.

Angie shook her head. "No. I don't like it, but I can't disagree with it."

Martha turned back to the two men. Still without acknowledging Aaron, she answered: "All right, Agent Cardona, I'll go along with this. What do you recommend I do now? Where am I supposed to spend the night tonight?"

"I'll leave Agent Pierce to discuss that with you," Cardona replied, rising quickly. "I need to, uh, go talk to the flight attendants for a minute." Angie quickly followed his cue; the two of them vanished into the galley area.

Left alone with her fiancé, Martha folded her arms and stared grimly at the seatback in front of her. Aaron eyed her, opened his mouth and then changed his mind: Adjusting his seat to a more comfortable position, he leaned back, closed his eyes and began to breathe peacefully. After thirty seconds of silence, Martha began shooting annoyed looks at him; finally, unable to bear it any longer, she hissed: "Say something."

Aaron yawned and moved his chair upright again. "Have you decided? It's really up to you."

"What do you mean?"

"I asked you to spend the night with me tonight. You heard me. I just need a yes or a no."

"If I say no?"

"Then we'll find you a hotel. If you'd feel safer that way, I have no problem with it. I need to catch up on my sleep anyway," he added with a faint smile. "You kept me busy the last two nights, you know."

Martha glared at him, slumped back in her chair and sulked. Aaron was suddenly irresistibly reminded of Jennifer and had to fight to hide a smile. "I can't believe we're having a fight on an airplane," she muttered.

"I wasn't aware we were having a fight."

Just as Martha began to lose control of her temper she realized that she was reenacting the pattern of conflict she'd had in her marriage. When goaded Charles had been more than willing to meet her halfway in provoking an argument, but that was not Aaron's style. She reminded herself that his only goal was her safety and tried to set her irritation aside. "Why didn't you tell me about this, Aaron?" she asked quietly instead. "I appreciate everything you and Jon are doing. I trust your judgment. But I can't believe you wouldn't tell me something as important as this. This man is _stalking_ me." Her anxiety level flared, and she stared at her shaking hands, unable to continue.

Aaron took her hands in his comfortingly. "Martha, we didn't want to scare you. Maybe I should have told you, but I didn't see the point in making you worry when there wasn't anything we could do. If we'd tried to arrest him, we would have gotten nowhere and he would have known we were on to him. Knowing this guy was trying to get access to your place and having to wait to see what he tried next – I didn't want to put you through that. But now we know, and I want you to be a part of this. You aren't a pawn, but unfortunately you are his target. Under the circumstances Jon and I had to do what we thought best."

Martha shuddered. "You were probably right, Aaron. Even knowing about it now is giving me the creeps. But I'll feel better about it if you have a plan to deal with him."

The fear in her eyes melted Aaron's usual reserve in public. Ignoring their fellow passengers, he pushed up the armrest between them and pulled her into his arms. "You know you're more important to me than getting Whitcomb. No matter what, I'm not going to let anything happen to you." Seeing Angie peeking around the galley curtain he quickly asked, "What do you want to do about tonight? Just tell me. Either way is okay."

"I'm spending it with you, of course." She smiled into his eyes. "You know I'm dying to see where you live. But I should warn you, I'm going to go through everything down to the medicine cabinets. I will leave no stone unturned."

Aaron laughed as he visualized Martha inspecting every closet in his home. "That's fine with me. You can help me decide what to keep and what to throw out. If I'm moving in with you I have to pack, remember?" He watched her face light up at this reminder and waved Angie and Jon back from the galley. As they returned to their seats he quickly whispered, "I love you. And I'm sorry." Martha leaned her forehead against his and whispered back, "Take a nap if you can. We may not be getting much sleep tonight, either." She gave him a wicked grin just as Angie sat down on his other side.

Slater had been waiting at the building's service entrance for about five minutes, glancing around nervously the entire time. As if compelled, his gaze kept returning to the windows of the building across the street. He jumped as a voice came suddenly from behind him: "Right on time. It's a pleasure doing business with you."

"I have the keys." Slater dug in his pocket and held them out. "Here." Somewhat to his surprise, Whitcomb made no move to take them: "Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asked blandly instead.

Slater looked puzzled. "You want to come in?" he repeated.

"I have a few things I'd like to discuss with you, and I wouldn't mind a cup of tea if you can manage one." Clearly at a loss for what to do, Slater took another fleeting look across the street but stopped himself in mid-glance. Instead he obediently opened the door and ushered Whitcomb inside.

Inside the building Slater had been staring at, Mitchell cursed under his breath. "What does he think he's doing?" he muttered. "Why didn't he just give him the keys?" He lowered the telephoto lens he had been using to film the encounter, rubbed his eyes and sighted along the lens again.

Slater opened a door off the main utility room, gesturing Whitcomb into a small office. Hardly more than a cubbyhole, it held just enough space for a table, two chairs and a few storage lockers. He pushed some paperwork aside, switched on the desk lamp and picked up a small electric kettle. "I'll be right back," he muttered and headed to the other room to fill the kettle at the sink. Left alone in the office Whitcomb quickly pushed open one of the locker doors that had been left ajar and took note of its contents, including a spare pair of coveralls and a large bunch of master keys hanging inside. The presence of a discarded _Racing Form_ provided a strong hint that this locker was in fact Slater's. As his reluctant host returned he quickly pushed the door back to its original position and sat down again.

Slater plugged the kettle into the wall outlet over the desk and began to search for the tea. "What is it you wanted to ask me?"

Abruptly, Whitcomb dropped his mild manner. "Have you talked to anybody about our little arrangement, Mr. Slater?"

Slater nearly lost his grip on the mug in his hands. "Are you crazy? I'd lose my job! Or go to jail, or both."

Whitcomb took this denial in, unimpressed. "I've heard from a reliable source that the Secret Service is aware of my interest in the former Mrs. Logan. I doubt I could convince them that I'm just a harmlessly obsessed fan of hers. I came here to talk to you because I'm trying to protect myself. You have an interest in this too: If I'm safe, you're safe. Once more, have you told anyone about me? Anyone at all?"

With effort, Slater forced himself to speak calmly. "No. I'm in over my head, we both know that. I'm just trying to stay alive and stay out of jail. If I tell anyone about you, what are my chances of having that happen?"

Whitcomb chuckled grimly. "About those of the proverbial snowball in Hell." They were interrupted by the sound of boiling water. Automatically, Slater unplugged the kettle, filled the mugs and added tea. Whitcomb took his and inhaled the steam from his cup for a moment, carefully jiggling his teabag. The tension level in the room decreased noticeably as he eyed the brewing liquid. When he judged the tea to have reached the proper strength he removed the bag, glanced around the room to the trashcan and tossed it in before adding sugar to his cup. "We all have our weaknesses," he explained to Slater, who was looking slightly surprised. "Yours is racing. Mine is caffeine." He chuckled and took a sip, mellowing visibly. "Ah, perfect. Well now, Slater, as long as you keep quiet we'll be fine. I won't need your services much longer – you'll probably be relieved to hear that. You've been most helpful, and I'm going to give you a bonus payment to show my appreciation. Take my advice: don't spend it on the horses." He handed the janitor a thick wad of folded bills. "That's a thousand dollars. I'll double it if you hold onto those keys for me. I'm not going to make use of them just yet." Taking another sip of tea, he watched Slater's face as he counted the money and then put the mug down on the desk with a thud. Dropping his sociable manner, he suddenly looked like a very dangerous man. "If I have any reason to believe you're double-crossing me you're going to regret it. Do you understand?"

Slater paled. "Yes. Yes, I do," he stammered.

"Good." Whitcomb stood up swiftly. "Then I think it's time for me to leave." Having escorted him to the door, Slater slumped against it in a panic. "Oh, God. What am I going to do?" he groaned.

"We got nothing, sir." Forty-five minutes later, Mitchell looked tired and frustrated. "Whitcomb didn't take the keys, he didn't force entry. Slater invited him in. As far as I could tell he didn't even touch the door frame."

"We confirmed that he's been in touch with Slater, but we already knew that." Aaron tapped his pen on the desk thoughtfully. "He didn't take the keys. He knew we were watching him, he must have. Somebody tipped him off." He looked again at the junior agent. "What did Slater say?"

"Not a lot. I don't know exactly what Whitcomb said to him, but it scared him good, I could see that. Whitcomb paid him more money but he didn't take the keys. He wanted to know if Slater had told anyone about him. Slater told him no." Mitchell paused. "He's a terrible liar, sir. He kept staring across the street while he was waiting for Whitcomb to show up. I know from the way he was acting that Whitcomb must have realized he was being watched."

Aaron sighed, shaking his head. "Charles," he muttered. "It all keeps coming back to Charles."

"Sir?"

"Nothing, Mitchell. You did fine. Get me a copy of Slater's debriefing, will you? I want to see his version of what happened."

An hour later Aaron was sitting in his favorite chair with Martha on his lap. Martha's obvious delight at being in his apartment had helped him shake off his preoccupation with the Whitcomb case. He was as pleased to have her there as she was to be there. As she had warned him, she had inspected the apartment minutely; she had been struck by its spareness and lack of decoration, but the stacks of books and well-placed reading light softened its impersonality, as did the family pictures prominently displayed on the desk and in the bedroom. There was only one picture of Diane, posed holding a very young Nathan Pierce.

"You don't have a lot of furniture here," she commented.

"I don't need it." Aaron shrugged. "Diane took a few pieces after our divorce, but I sold or donated a lot of it. The only thing I really cared about was this chair. I used to read Nathan to sleep in it when he was little." He looked wistful for a moment. "That was twenty years ago." With a visible effort he changed the subject. "I have good news for you, Martha. Whitcomb doesn't have your keys; he didn't take them for some reason. You can go home as soon as you'd like."

"That would be never." Martha laughed, snuggling closer to him. "It's wonderful to be here, just to see how you live. Was dinner okay?" she added anxiously.

"It was fine." Aaron found himself struggling to express his happiness. "Martha, it's wonderful to have you here. It used to be a relief for me to come home after work and be by myself, but now I don't think I ever want to spend another night alone here again." He hugged her close. "You inspected my bedroom?"

"I did."

"Want to inspect it again?"

Some time later Martha yawned, stretched and craned her neck to look across the room. "Look at us." She laughed and shook her head. The normally pristine expanse of Aaron's bed was a tangled mess, garnished with clothes strewn on the floor and edge of the mattress. She made a token gesture to straighten out the bedclothes but was prevented by Aaron, who grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into him; she put up no resistance.

"Aaron."

"Mmm?"

"I've been thinking."

"What about?" he murmured.

"When we get married, we might need a bigger place." She rephrased the statement: "We _will_ need a bigger place. The apartment I'm in now I never meant for anything but a temporary living arrangement. We can't entertain there, we can't have people over for dinner…"

Aaron grimaced. "Entertain?"

"Entertain," she repeated firmly. "I don't mean every night, but sometimes we'll have to. You know how Washington is."

"A bigger place. That's going to be expensive."

"I know, but it shouldn't be that much more than what I'm paying now and less than what the two of us are paying together. I could check with the manager to see if any larger apartments will be available soon. We need to get your things moved in too."

Aaron yawned and kissed the top of her head. "Let's talk about it in the morning. Right now all I can think about is that you're here, with me, and we're going to get married. The rest of it can wait."

"Okay, sweetheart." She hugged him. Some corner of Aaron's mind reminded him that he'd have to ask Martha to meet again with Charles, but he decided it could wait until morning. Still not quite able to believe that she was here with him, he smiled and put everything else out of his mind. The two of them fell asleep quickly. In contrast, several miles away in a high security prison Martha's former husband lay staring at the ceiling, balancing his safety against hers and trying to make up his mind as to his best course of action.


	25. Chapter 25

The nights were the worst thing about being in prison, Charles Logan had decided. He had found some solace in keeping as busy as possible during the day with his cleaning job and volunteering in the prison library, but come nightfall he had no distractions to black out his racing thoughts. He had in fact adapted rather well to prison life, spurred by the realization that he was on his own: With his divorce and simultaneous realization that there was no one he could turn to for sympathy or support, some primitive survival instinct had kicked into action. Graem Bauer had expressed surprise at his ability to adjust, but Charles knew exactly what had happened. The brutal lessons he'd learned from his father had come back to him as he acclimated to prison life, and he found a certain grim humor in the realization that his current existence was very similar to his boyhood in the exclusive boarding school he'd attended.

His thoughts returned, as they so often did, to Martha. Graem's warning had not been lost on him; lately he'd found himself eyeing every guard and every fellow prisoner with suspicion. _Are you working with Whitcomb? Did you leave the phone? What comes next?_ At the conclusion of their previous conversation Charles had been forced to leave the bathroom to return his cleaning supplies; when he returned ten minutes later to check behind the toilet the cell phone had vanished. It was highly likely, he thought, that Graem had informed Christian of the gist of their discussion. If so, Whitcomb would be aware both that he was suspected in Dunlap's death and that the Secret Service knew he had gained access to Martha's apartment. What measures might a ruthless man like Whitcomb resort to in order to protect himself? This idea sent Charles to the verge of panic, but he calmed himself and tried to review the situation carefully. His first thought was that it was time for Whitcomb to leave the country. Surely Graem could help with that, he decided, forcing himself to relax. Next he determined to send a message to Martha asking her to visit him as soon as possible. _I have to warn her,_ he thought, absently turning his wedding ring on his finger.

Christian Whitcomb checked the display on his cell phone and grimaced slightly as he recognized the caller's number._ Better get it over with,_ he thought as he answered the call.

"This is Whitcomb."

"Christian, it's Graem. I need to talk to our friend. The one who's having trouble communicating." (Unseen by Graem, Whitcomb rolled his eyes in exasperation.) "Have you made any progress with that?"

"I have, yes. Our facilitator has not been scheduled to work the last couple of days, but he's going to be there today and he knows what to do." For a moment Whitcomb was tempted to say "He's going to smuggle the phone to President Logan today" for the sheer pleasure of provoking a panic attack in his employer, but thought better of it. The impulse to court risk had been gaining on him in recent days, and he already knew Graem would not be pleased with what he had to report. He cleared his throat and changed the subject.

"Graem, after our last conversation I decided that it was worth doing some investigation into what you told me. You were right, I now have proof that I'm being watched."

"What sort of proof?"

Christian again found himself becoming impatient with the hint of anxiety in the other man's tone. "I decided to set up a situation that would allow me to check on the man I've been working with. I told the janitor I needed keys to the Powell apartment."

"You _what?_" Graem's panic was now off the scale. "What in God's name did you do that for?"

"I'll tell you." Christian made his tone as reasonable as possible. "I had nothing to lose by making this request. I didn't take the keys, which makes it Slater's word against mine. When I met him outside the building it was crystal-clear that we were under surveillance. Slater's no actor, I'm afraid. He couldn't stop himself from staring at the building across the street, especially when he went to hand me the keys." Remembering Slater's awkwardness, Whitcomb chuckled for a moment: "It was like watching a seven-year-old in a school play. At any rate, I told him I needed to speak with him and got him to open the door and invite me into the building. I sent him off to make tea and that gave me a chance to inspect the facilities. I gained a lot of information from that visit, let me tell you. He's keeping the keys for me—for a price, of course—and I can still get in any time I want. I also made it clear to him that I'll be coming after him if I find out he's been talking about me." Whitcomb's tone turned grim. "He won't be quite so eager to spill everything he knows now, but I still wouldn't tell him anything I wouldn't want him to share with the Secret Service. Or the police."

"That's all well and good, Christian, but you left one factor out of this equation. Charles. When I spoke to him he told me that if his ex-wife were put in any danger, he'd break his agreement. You know he's going to find out about this."

His confederate shrugged. "Just make sure he finds out from you first. When you call him, make it clear that she _isn't_ in danger. At least for now. This was a stratagem, Graem, nothing else. I did this to get information and I found out what I needed to know. I don't anticipate any need to disturb Ms. Powell at this time. I admit I thought it might give us leverage if he knows that we could, but if you think it would panic him there's no need to emphasize that aspect of it."

"It would, but you're right, I can reassure him." Graem fidgeted for a moment. "I still think there's an unnecessary element of risk here. We're supposed to stay dark, not make spectacles of ourselves."

"Risk appeals to me. Don't worry, I have everything under control. I can handle Slater; I promised him an extra two thousand dollars and he's well and truly on the hook. I'm the one taking the real risk here, not you. But then again, that's what you're paying me for, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. I don't mean to criticize. You're doing an excellent job. Just try to keep your impulses under control." Graem snapped his phone shut and glanced at his watch, calculating the time that he'd be able to call Logan.

Over breakfast Aaron was able to convince Martha to meet again with her ex-husband. The Washington police had made no further progress on Dunlap's murder, and Whitcomb's intimidation of Slater had been successful enough that Mitchell had extracted very little additional information from the janitor. Aaron pointed out that repeated meetings with Service agents would likely endanger Charles, whereas a visit from his ex-wife was much less likely to raise suspicion. Martha nodded. "I'll do it," she promised. "I'll call the prison today and see how soon I can arrange a visit." A muted beep turned their attention to Aaron's laptop, sitting open on the table: "I got an email back from Nathan," he commented, staring at the computer screen.

"What's he say?" Martha stood behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders.

"He's thrilled. He says under no circumstances are we to get married till he gets back," Aaron commented, smiling. "'I know you're feeling like the luckiest man in the world, but be sure to tell Em that she's a lucky woman.'"

"Em?"

"He wasn't sure what to call you," Aaron explained. "He didn't feel comfortable calling you Martha, so he had to come up with something else. He said he first thought of your initial M, but it sounded too much like James Bond, so he went with Em, e-m."

"Em," Martha repeated. "My new Texas name. I like it, but I'm not letting Jen call me 'Auntie Em,'" she finished, laughing. "When will he get leave, do we know?"

"He's due at the end of the summer. Does Labor Day weekend sound okay to you?"

"I've got to call Neil and see if that will work for him. Also, I've got to talk to him about Jennifer and see if she can help him in some way."

Aaron looked puzzled. "Neil?"

"Neil Roston, Aaron, the designer we met with at Neiman-Marcus. He's going to make my gown, or at least I have to offer him the chance to do it if he wants to."

"I thought you wanted a simple wedding," her fiancé frowned.

"I do, but even simple weddings can be complicated, Aaron. You know Jen wants to help, and I'd really like to let her have a part in designing the gown. And after the favor Neil just did us, I can't get married and not talk to him about my wedding dress."

"I see your point." Aaron sighed and leaned back in his chair. "You sure we can't get married at City Hall?" he added half-seriously.

"You don't really want to do that." Martha kissed his forehead. "Your family wouldn't be too happy about it, and if we're going to move back to Texas I need to put down some roots. I can't think of a better way to do that than a church wedding, in your church, in your town. This is a goodwill investment."

Aaron pulled her down onto his lap. "You're right," he agreed, "but somehow I was hoping it would just be us."

Martha slid her arms around him. "Weddings are never 'just us.' That's what the honeymoon is for. I'm going to put you in charge of planning that," she added as his expression brightened. "Don't worry, I'm not going to let this get out of control, and neither is Angie. Just your family, a few close friends, that's all I want."

Unfortunately for the state of her nerves, Martha's resolve to plan a quiet wedding was severely tested shortly afterward when she received a phone call from President Gardner.

"Martha, I have good news," he began after complimenting her on the success of her tour. "Our relations with Suvarov have continued to improve. He and his wife are planning a state visit and we're hoping you'll be able to meet with them."

"I'd love to, Hal. Do you know when they're coming?"

"They're scheduled for the week after Labor Day."

"Oh, no," Martha groaned. "Hal, I don't know if I'll be able to make it. The truth is, Aaron Pierce and I have gotten engaged and we're planning to get married right around that time."

After a split second of stunned silence, Gardner responded with congratulations. "You'll be getting married in Washington, of course?"

"Well, no, Hal. Aaron's family all live in Texas, and they couldn't really afford to travel to Washington. We're getting married there. This is a second marriage for both of us, and we just wanted a quiet family wedding."

"Martha, this is _news!_ Everyone who counts in Washington will want to be there."

Martha grimaced. "That's just what we don't want. I've had enough publicity, Hal, really. And Aaron hates that sort of thing."

Gardner sighed. "Well, I'm afraid there's no way Beth and I would be able to make it to Texas, there's just too much going on. The election..." he let the sentence trail off.

Martha gulped as she realized that Gardner was clearly expecting to be invited. "Oh no, Hal, I understand completely. I can take you off the guest list if you'd like," she offered hopefully.

"Well, let me talk to Beth first. I still think we should do something for you, Martha. I know being a public figure is not something you've ever really enjoyed," he added, "but you _are_ a public figure. And remember, this could boost your career. You know what they say: there's no such thing as bad publicity." He chuckled at his own quip and rang off, promising to call her back.

On the other end of the line: "Oh, my God. _Angie!_"

When the cell phone rang Logan was shelving books in the library. He had been performing maintenance duties prior to opening the library to his fellow inmates and had managed to soothe his worries by focusing on the intricacies of the Dewey Decimal System. The ringing startled him for an instant, but this time he immediately realized what was happening and looked around for the phone. Before he picked it up he glanced around quickly, wondering absently who had gained access to the library to place the phone on the bookshelf. It did cross his mind that its location would have been a typical gesture on Christian's part: it was sitting innocently next to a copy of _All The President's Men_.

"Yes?"

"Charles, it's me."

"I'm glad you called, Graem. I've been thinking—"

"So have I." Logan, irritated by Graem's interruption, suddenly realized that he sounded nervous. "Our friend is becoming more reckless. He actually requested keys to your former wife's residence."

"_What?"_

"I'm dealing with it, Charles. I think he was acting out. He told me that he didn't really want the keys; he did this to find out whether or not he was being followed. I wanted you to know, I thought you were entitled to the truth. Believe me when I say I had no idea that this was going to happen."

"Graem, you've got to get him out of the country. I don't trust him; I think events are starting to go to his head. He's always had a problem with overconfidence, and it's getting worse. I think it's the only safe thing to do at this point."

"I'm not saying you're wrong. The problem is that we're in the middle of some very delicate negotiations right now with China and Central Asia. I think we're on the verge of getting access to those oil fields and I need Christian's help to pull this off. I can't afford for anything to screw this up, not after what's already happened."

"I imagine your father wouldn't be too happy about that. Would he?" Charles responded dryly.

Graem stiffened. "Don't bring my father into this." Realizing he'd answered too quickly, he forced himself to relax. "None of us wanted things to turn out the way they did. Not him, not me, not you. We just have to keep going and make things right as best we can. He's trusting me to salvage this project and I don't want to let him down."

Logan raised his eyebrows. He well remembered Philip Bauer's strong support of the Keeler/Logan ticket in the last election. It was now clear to him that, having been successful in enlisting Logan, Philip had then dragged his son into his plot to gain access to the Central Asian oil fields. The fact that they were rightfully owned by Russia evidently meant nothing to the elder Bauer except that ownership was an obstacle that needed to be overcome, and Graem, intimidated by his father, would do anything Philip asked. _Tough old bastard,_ thought Charles. It suddenly struck him how similar Philip was to his own father. Was there any way he could draw on this resemblance to forge a closer link with Graem? He thought it was worth a try.

"Graem, I understand what you're saying. I know what it's like to deal with a difficult parent. Philip reminds me of my father in some ways." Logan paused invitingly.

Graem snorted. "Warm, fuzzy memories?" he asked in a mocking tone.

"Anything but." Charles clipped the words off. "My relationship with him was not the best. As a child I was more afraid of him than anything. As I got older things got better, but not by much. Being successful was very important to me because I knew it was something he wanted to see."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. "When you went into politics, was it something he approved of?" Graem finally asked.

"At first he wasn't sure I was doing the right thing, but after I won my first election he became much more supportive. He died just after Keeler picked me as his running mate. That made him very happy." Logan paused for a moment. "I wasn't sure it was the right position for me, and Martha didn't want me to run, but once I saw he approved of it there was no way I was going to turn the opportunity down. I told myself I was doing it for him. In retrospect, that was probably the worst decision I've ever made in my life."

"Why are you telling me this, Charles?" Graem asked quietly.

"Because I don't want you to make the same mistakes I made. You talked about making things right; there's no way I can ever do that. I was in charge, and it was the decisions I made that cost all those people their lives. I don't know how much longer I can live with that, Graem." Logan was pacing around the library to work off his agitation.

"Wait. Just wait. There's nothing you can do about that now. If we can secure that oil it will still be a great help to this country, Charles. And it will have been because of you."

"It won't bring those people back to life."

"Charles, don't do anything in haste. I need to know that I can depend on you." Graem was almost pleading with Logan. "You've been loyal, you haven't let us down. Let's get back to the main issue here. I need you to convince your ex-wife to back off. Get her to focus on her career for a while. That tour of hers did well, from what I hear; when you talk to her, concentrate on that. Butter her up. Promise her that she and Pierce will be safe if she lets it go. Do whatever you have to do, but get them to drop the case."

Logan closed his eyes in frustration. He'd thought that he was getting through to Graem, but the younger man was too deeply involved in his father's schemes to listen to his warning. It was time for the library to open, and he had to end the call. "I will, Graem. Keep Christian away from her. I'll talk to her as soon as possible."


	26. Chapter 26

As soon as his shift in the library ended Logan reported to the prison administrator's office to request permission to make a phone call, unaware that one of the prison guards was observing him closely. The nametag pinned to the guard's shirt read: _Ryan_. On his next break the guard left the building hurriedly, selecting an area where he could not be overheard. He called Whitcomb on the same cell phone Logan had used earlier, having abstracted it while Logan was completing paperwork for the library.

"He looked upset," Ryan reported. "He wants to make a phone call. It was the first thing he did after he got out of the library."

"Find out who he wants to talk to."

"There are privacy rules here. I can't—"

"Just find out." Whitcomb ended the call, frowning. _What on earth did Bauer say to him?_ he wondered. Shrugging,he dialed Graem's number.

"Did all go well? You were able to speak to our friend?" Whitcomb was careful to express only mild curiosity. 

"Yes, I spoke to him." Graem sounded subdued. "I explained what happened, and he's agreed to talk to his ex for us."

"Good." Whitcomb paused. "Anything else?"

"He sounded… not himself." Still shaken by Logan's disclosures, Graem found himself revealing more of their conversation than he had intended. "He talked about 'making things right.' He said there was nothing he could do to bring back the people who were killed in the attacks. And then he talked about his father, and how he wishes now he hadn't run for vice president." Graem paused. "I think jail is getting to him."

Christian's hand tightened on the phone. "That doesn't sound promising. Do you think he's going to crack?"

"No, no," Graem responded quickly. "Loyalty is important to him. It's the one thing he's held on to. If he were going to turn us in, he'd have done it by now."

"Maybe," Whitcomb remarked. His voice was expressionless.

"Christian, he's going to be fine. He knows we're standing behind him. He's agreed to meet with his ex, he's going to read her the riot act, everything is going to be fine." Graem's unsure tone contrasted with the optimism of his words.

"It's difficult to see how he can convince her to drop things when he's wracked by guilt."

"But he knows it's the only thing that can keep her safe. I think he'll do it."

"Very well. Keep in touch if you think there's anything I need to know," Whitcomb responded, ending the call with a thoughtful look on his face.

After a frantic discussion with Angie, Martha had calmed down and determined to stick by her original plan for a small wedding.

"Don't worry about it too much," Angie said reassuringly. "I don't think Mrs. Gardner would be too thrilled about coming to Texas, and if she doesn't want to go you don't need to worry about them showing up."

Martha laughed. "You always say the right thing, Angie." So far her guest list for the wedding, excluding Aaron's family, consisted of three people: Mike, Jane and Angie. When asked, Aaron had shrugged and contributed only Jon Cardona to the list.

"But he'll be there anyway, won't he?"

"Trust me, if he's there guarding you he won't have time to pay any attention to the ceremony. We can get other agents to watch you." Aaron smiled slightly. "I've gotten to know him a lot better since he took over as your head of security, Martha, and I'd really like to have him there as a friend." Martha had immediately agreed. After further discussion, they had settled that Bill would be Aaron's best man and Nathan his groomsman. Martha had quickly decided on Ann and Barbara as her attendants, though she had asked Angie if she would like to be maid of honor. Though touched, Angie had declined.

"I appreciate it, Martha, I really do." She gave Martha a hug of thanks. "But you'll get serious brownie points if you ask Ann and Barbara. I know they'd both love to be in your wedding. Besides, I'll be freer to get things organized for you this way." She hesitated. "Could I bring Marie?"

"Of course!"

After an animated telephone discussion with Neil Roston, who was delighted to be given the job of designing her dress, Martha began to feel better. He raised no objections to including Jennifer in the design process, suggesting that Martha talk to her first and then send any sketches or ideas to him. "I'll need to see you in about a month for the first fitting," he added at the end of the call.

A phone call from Beth Gardner a few days later finally ended Martha's suspense. "Oh, Martha, Hal told me about your engagement. Congratulations," she added in a perfunctory tone. Martha's thanks were equally tepid; she had known Beth wouldn't be impressed that she was marrying a Secret Service agent, even one with the record of Aaron Pierce.

"I've checked our schedule, and I'm afraid that there's no way we'll be able to make it to Texas for the wedding. I'm so sorry…"

"That's all right, Beth, I understand." Martha closed her eyes in relief.

"But as you know the Suvarovs are really looking forward to seeing you, so we've decided to have a reception for you at the White House the week they'll be here!" Beth's tone was that of a parent promising a child a special treat.

Martha's eyes popped open again in panic. "That's really too kind of you, Beth. Are you sure?"

"Oh, it'll be fun. I enjoy planning things like this." She paused. "It would be a nice change to do something for someone I actually know. Something that's not political," she added. Martha could sense the fatigue in Beth's voice and responded more warmly.

"I know exactly what you mean. Are you holding up all right?"

"Oh, I'm okay. Thanks for asking. But I'll be glad when the election's over, that's for sure." The First Lady lowered her voice. "I don't know what our chances are, Martha, but I'll tell you at this point we just don't care that much."

"You've done a great job, Beth. You really have. I wish I had done half as well."

"Thank you, Martha." Beth sounded slightly surprised, but appreciative. "Well," she added more briskly, "we've got the seventh reserved for you. It's the Friday after Labor Day. Don't forget!"

After offering her profuse thanks, Martha hung up, braced herself and went to break the news to Aaron.

"But …" Aaron calculated, "that only gives us five days for a honeymoon." He looked stunned.

"I know, Aaron. I'm sorry. But what am I supposed to do? I can't turn down their offer. They're going to a lot of trouble for us, and I really would like to see the Suvarovs again. Besides, it could have been worse."

"How? How could it be any worse?"

Martha paused to get the fullest effect from her next statement: "The Gardners wanted to come to the wedding." As her news sank in, a look of horror dawned on his face; she added, "But they couldn't fit it into their schedule."

Aaron gave a sigh of relief. "You're right. It could have been worse." They looked at each other and started to laugh. "Just don't tell Barbara," he added finally. "If she finds out we could've had the President of the United States at our wedding she'll never forgive us." He started to chuckle again.

Martha had been curious to see what Charles would want to discuss with her, having received his message just as she was about to call the prison. She noted something different about his bearing as they sat facing each other through the glass; he still looked strained and tired, but calm, not cringing or defensive.

"I'm glad you came," he said simply.

"How are you, Charles?"

"I'm fine." His eye caught the sparkle of diamonds on her finger and he stiffened slightly. "I see. Congratulations are in order, I suppose?"

"Yes, we're engaged." She made her tone as neutral as possible, not wanting to sound either defensive or triumphant; she was mildly surprised when he merely nodded and continued.

"I asked you to visit because I wanted to warn you."

"About Christian Whitcomb?"

Now he looked startled. "Yes. You know what's happened? Does the Service know?"

"We know how he got access to my apartment building; he was blackmailing somebody who works there. The Service has been watching him for a while, I'm not sure when they found out he was involved. He asked for a set of keys to my apartment, but then he didn't take them. I don't know why he didn't—"

"He's getting reckless." Charles interrupted her with a touch of his old impatience. "This man is dangerous, Martha. He's very intelligent and he's ruthless. He used to be more careful when I knew him, but he doesn't seem to be taking any precautions now. I think success has gone to his head. Maybe it's the money, maybe it's being involved in something on a bigger scale than he's used to… I don't know, but I think you should leave for a while. If you drop the whole thing, get out of town, you'll be safe."

She shook her head. "I wasn't safe in Russia."

"This is different. I made a bargain with them. Drop the investigation and I promise they won't come after you again."

"That's heartwarming, Charles," she replied dryly. "How sweet of you to go to all that trouble."

Surprising her again, he did not respond to her sarcasm. He merely leaned forward and said again quietly, "I want you to be safe. Please believe me."

They held eye contact for a few moments; Martha saw sadness in Logan's eyes, but his gaze did not move. She startled herself by blurting, "You almost look—"

"What?"

"Like the man I married." Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. "Damn it!" she muttered, trying to blink them back. "I promised myself I wasn't going to do this."

"It's all right." His voice was low. "We both know I'm not the man you married." He glanced around the room to give Martha time to collect herself and caught Ryan's eye. The guard had been staring at them fixedly, but now he quickly looked away and walked over to watch another prisoner. Suddenly all Logan's previous nervousness returned.

"I'm being watched, Martha. There's no protection here. They can get me any time they want, and if they can get to me they can get to you. Please listen to me. Tell Aaron—"

"He knows. We've discussed it. We both know the risk and we've decided to stay. I'm not going to let these people disrupt my life any more than they already have." Having recovered herself, Martha returned to the reason she'd come: to get her ex-husband to share what he knew. "Charles, work with us. We can get you moved to another prison, and when we arrest these men you won't be in danger any more."

Charles shrugged. "I don't think you can, Martha. Not all of them. Even if you could, they've been loyal to me. They agreed to my terms. I can't let them down."

"They're conspirators, Charles. Killers. What about your loyalty to the country? I know you regret what you've done. Why are you worried about letting them down?"

"You're right, but I don't want to go back on my word. At this point it's the only thing I have left. I betrayed you, I betrayed my trust to the country… I don't want to betray anybody else."

Suddenly Martha understood. "You're letting your father tell you what to do again. Charles, he's dead. You can't prove anything to him now."

Her ex-husband sighed. "Old habits are hard to break." He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his guilt settling back onto him.

"Who do you trust? Me, or them?"

Logan could not resist the urgency in her voice. "You. I trust you," he answered honestly. Looking into her face, he saw that his argument had not succeeded. "You won't leave, then?"

"No, Charles. I'm not going to leave."

Charles pondered for a moment, seeing the rest of his life stretching uselessly ahead of him. Leaving jail would not solve any of his problems; Martha was lost to him, he had no career to return to and the remorse he felt for the role he'd played in the attacks would never leave him. _I can't stand this any longer,_ he thought suddenly. Perhaps breaking his silence would not atone for what he had done, but he knew he had to try. He made his decision.

"Tell Aaron I'm ready to give him what he wanted. They'll have to get me out of here and make arrangements to transfer me to another prison first. I can't tell anyone anything until that happens. When you're ready I'll talk to Aaron. He can bring the Attorney General, anyone he likes, it doesn't matter."

Martha glanced over his shoulder. "Someone's coming," she whispered. Charles had been so focused on their conversation he hadn't heard the guard's footsteps; now he turned around. "Just one more minute. It's important." Ryan backed off, but only by a few feet and stood near them with crossed arms.

"I'm going to tell them you agreed to drop the investigation," Charles whispered as quietly as he could. "Put the word out that you're leaving town, going on another tour, working on a book, anything. Just make it look like you're leaving."

"Okay," Martha whispered quickly. "Be careful, Charles."

"I'll be fine," he lied. "You be careful too."

"Martha, _congratulations!_ This is wonderful news!" Jane's face had lit up with excitement when Martha displayed her left hand. She eagerly inspected the modest ring, touched by Martha's pride in it. "When did this happen?"

"Just over a week ago when I was finishing the tour. Aaron flew to Dallas to surprise me, and that's when he proposed. Then we went on to El Paso and told his family."

"Ah, so you've met the family?" Jane took a thoughtful bite of salad. "What are they like?"

"They're really nice, Jane. I admit I was a little worried about meeting them, I didn't think we'd have anything in common. But we seem to get along really well. His oldest niece is going to graduate from high school next year, and she wants to go to design school. She has loads of talent. I've seen some of her designs: they're fantastic. I'm trying to help her out with that." Martha raised her eyebrows. "Now I get to grill you. What have you been up to lately?"

"You mean have I been seeing Mike?" Jane grinned. "We've been having a blast. I can't thank you enough for introducing me to him, Martha. In fact, lunch is on me. I owe you big time." 

"Really?" Martha hoped her tone didn't sound too astonished.

"Really. He isn't wild and crazy—I mean, we haven't been dancing on tables or anything—" Martha gave an involuntary snort at the thought. "But we are having fun. He knows everybody, he gets invited everywhere, and we go! He said before he met me he never bothered to go to any of these functions because he didn't have anyone to go with. And he's _nice_, Martha. I think he likes indulging me. He gets a kick out of it. When I was seeing George I got the feeling that every minute he spent with me was a minute he could have been doing something else. Mike's never made me feel that way."

"I'm really glad you're getting along so well, because I'm inviting both of you to the wedding. If you can make it." Martha smiled. "It's going to be small, mostly Aaron's family and just a few other people. We're getting married in his home town."

"We will be there, Martha. I guarantee it." Jane had a determined look on her face. "No way will we miss this."

"You know, of course, he's the one responsible for the attacks." Whitcomb made this statement almost casually; out of the corner of his eye he noted the guard stiffen in disbelief. "The public doesn't know how deeply involved he was; they hushed up the worst of it. He directed the whole thing, Mr. Ryan. He even gave the terrorists information about the Russian motorcade—"

"My cousin was on the L.A. police force," Ryan muttered. "He was killed that day."

Christian gave himself a quick mental pat on the back while uttering a few conventional phrases of regret to his unwitting assistant. _It's all about the research,_ he reminded himself: Once he'd become aware that one of the prison guards had family connections in Los Angeles, he'd known exactly whom he was going to approach. He steered Ryan onto an adjoining walkway, allowing him to unobtrusively scan the park in which they'd arranged to meet. No one was watching them.

"All those deaths and he gets off with a couple of years of prison time. Doesn't seem fair, does it?" In the meditative silence that followed, Christian strolled along quietly and waited for a response.

"What are you asking me to do?" Ryan finally demanded.

"I haven't _asked_ you to do anything. But now you mention it, I'll be honest and tell you that he's become a liability. More than that: an embarrassment. Imagine a U.S. President doing such a thing. Unthinkable." Whitcomb shook his head sorrowfully.

"My cousin left a wife and a two-year-old kid." A slow anger was building in the guard. "What about you? Where do you come into this?"

"I? I am what's known as a 'helpful person.'" Christian looked as innocent as possible. "I don't hold any official position, but when certain people need something done they quite often come to me. I have a reputation, you see. They know they can trust me."

"You're saying the government wants Logan dead?" Ryan had leaped to exactly the conclusion Whitcomb had hoped for. "And they want you to do it?"

"Does that surprise you?" Whitcomb responded, artfully avoiding a direct answer. "We both know that when it comes to politics there's much more that goes on behind the scenes than meets the eye. A lot of dirty laundry has to get done, and I'm usually the one that ends up doing it." He shrugged. "It's all for the good of the country."

"Yeah." Ryan nodded in agreement. "I don't have any problem seeing this guy dead, I'll tell you that." He paused for a moment, scowling. "In fact, I wouldn't mind helping you."

"Good man." Ryan stood a little taller under the look of warm approval Christian gave him. "We'll need to plan this carefully; I need your help to get through the weapons search without being noticed. Once I'm in, you're finished." _In more ways than one,_ he thought grimly. _It's a pity, really._ He smiled at Ryan reassuringly: "I'll take things from there."


	27. Chapter 27

Since learning from Martha that Charles was willing to talk, Aaron had spent the best part of a week conferring urgently with Attorney General Haslett. He had immediately realized the extreme risk of Logan's situation and felt frustrated that the federal government's legal officials could not recognize the need to move faster.

"We have to find a detention facility with the proper level of security, Agent Pierce," the Attorney General had explained. "If what you're telling me is accurate, these people were able to get to Logan even though he's in one of our tightest prisons."

"We know who was responsible for that, sir. He's my primary target. Once we get Whitcomb I don't think security will be nearly as much of an issue."

"But how do you know they won't send somebody else?"

Aaron was silenced.

"I appreciate everything you've done, Aaron," Haslett added. "I want to thank both you and Ms. Powell and I'm going to make it clear to President Gardner that we're in your debt. If it weren't for both of you we would have gotten nowhere. But my people need to make the arrangements. That's their job. I promise you I will do everything in my power to move this along."

Knowing he had to be satisfied with this, Aaron thanked the Attorney General and closed the conversation. He found himself thinking back to his interview with Logan, wondering what had finally made him agree to talk; he could tell that Martha's interview with Charles had upset her somehow, but she had not told him the details of what had passed between them. Curious as to what motive could have caused Logan's change of heart, Aaron thought it possible that he was still hoping to win Martha back, but then told himself that Charles had to know that would never happen. He sensed that Martha was holding back either to protect his feelings or to shield Charles' privacy, possibly both. She knew he preferred to avoid the topic of her ex-husband whenever possible.

Angie had been successful in solving Martha and Aaron's housing predicament. When Martha had discussed the issue with her, she had wholeheartedly agreed that a larger apartment was a priority and had pointed out to Aaron that moving to the Federal district would save him a great deal of commuting time. He had countered that the cost of a larger apartment in Martha's building would be prohibitive. This had concerned Aaron more than anything else about the prospect of moving (even he had been forced to admit that her current residence was too small for both of them). Angie's negotiating skills were more than a match for this problem; when she gently pointed out the multiple security breaches to Martha's apartment, the building manager blanched at the threat of publicity. He hastily offered a lower rent for the first eighteen months, contingent upon Martha and Aaron agreeing to a long-term lease. "I'd take it, Martha," Angie counseled. "This really is a fantastic deal." After an inspection of the new apartment, Aaron had to agree. He gave notice to his landlord and began packing.

"What days does the grocery shipment deliver?" Whitcomb asked. He and Ryan had met again at the park to discuss details of their plan.

"Tuesdays and Fridays," Ryan answered. "He usually gets there around ten. I can hold up the truck long enough for you to get under it; if you can hang on to the undercarriage that would be the easiest way to get you in."

Whitcomb nodded. "That won't be a problem."

"Once you're in I'll have a spare guard's uniform waiting for you. Logan is scheduled to work the library nearly every day. I'll show you how to get there. Once you're finished we can get you out on the catering truck again. I'll just have to make sure I'm there to do the inspection."

"Do you have a map? I think it's safer if we leave you at the inspection point. The more I know about the layout the less chance of something going wrong."

Ryan quickly sketched a map indicating the relative positions of the gate, kitchen area and cellblocks.

"Get me the uniform as soon as you can. I'll wear coveralls over it. That's one less step."

"Okay." Ryan drew a deep breath.

"I don't blame you for being squeamish, Mr. Ryan. This is a dirty business. I'm trying to spare you as much responsibility as possible: The less you know the better."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." Ryan looked determined. "I won't let you down."

In the event Whitcomb's plan passed off very much as he had intended, though with additional details he had not discussed with Ryan. Once inside the prison walls he waited until the truck had been unloaded, rolled out from under it and beckoned to Ryan from the shelter of a doorway just beyond the kitchen. Ryan muttered an excuse to his partner and moved inside, escorting Whitcomb. The latter quickly stripped off his coveralls, pulled a revolver from one pocket and attached a silencer. "Which way is the library again?" he asked, removing the safety lock from the gun.

"That way—" Ryan turned to point, but never finished his sentence. Whitcomb shot him twice from behind.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ryan," he murmured as he dragged the body out of sight, "but I really didn't have a choice." He quickly removed Ryan's identification pass and clipped it to his shirt pocket, then moved stealthily toward the library.

Logan was sorting books and barely looked up as the guard entered; he froze in place as he recognized Whitcomb's voice.

"Hello, Charles. Or should I still be addressing you as 'Mr. President'?"

"Hello, Christian." Logan turned slowly. "It's been quite some time, hasn't it?" Any hopes he had harbored of survival vanished as he saw the gun in Whitcomb's hand. "I thought better of Graem," he muttered.

"Graem didn't have anything to do with this." Christian shrugged. "No matter how much I tried to reason with him, he insisted you weren't going to talk. Rather touching really."

"I stayed quiet as long as I could. Living with the knowledge that I was responsible for what happened is more difficult than you'd think."

"I knew it." Whitcomb gave Charles a look of disdain. "Guilt is an unaffordable luxury in our line of work, Charles. I'd have thought you'd have figured that out by now. I tried to tell Graem you were cracking but he wouldn't hear of it, so I took matters into my own hands."

"You killed Gene Dunlap, didn't you?" Logan was playing for time, hoping against hope that someone would come into the library.

"Yes, I did. That was a special favor for Graem. Dunlap was panicking; he was ready to give all of us up and cut a deal, so Graem came to me for help. It was easier than you'd think. I arranged for Dunlap to pick me up to discuss how we could get him out of the country. Once I was in his car he never had a chance."

"You never used to be a killer, Christian."

The other man shrugged. "Desperate times, desperate measures and all that. The scary thing is, Charles," he looked up, "I'm enjoying it. There's an adrenalin rush that comes with being a complete outlaw – you've no idea. I'm afraid that brings me back to my original purpose for being here," he lifted the gun. "Don't worry, you aren't going to feel a thing. I know what I'm doing."

"Just one thing." Logan spoke urgently. "Leave my wife out of this. I don't want her hurt."

"I have no intention of hurting her, Charles." Whitcomb spoke gravely, having no wish to taunt the man he was about to kill. "I'm leaving the country today. I think I've worn out my welcome."

Logan closed his eyes in relief, and Whitcomb immediately fired twice. Charles collapsed without a sound. Heaving glanced around to make sure the body could not be seen from the window, Whitcomb turned and left, glancing at his watch. Returning to his previous station near the kitchens, he flagged down the driver of the catering truck. "I need to check back here," he said sharply. "Open the doors."

Protesting, the driver opened the rear doors to the van. "Your partner already checked—" he began, but Whitcomb clubbed him over the head with the gun, knocking him unconscious. He shut the doors to the van, stripped the driver of his coveralls and quickly changed. Putting on the driver's sunglasses, he drove out by the gate, nonchalantly waving to the guard on duty as he left. Half a mile from the prison, he left the van by the side of the road and returned to his car. "And now for part two," he chuckled, dialing Slater's number.

Martha ran down the service stairs and unlocked her door. She had been planning the furniture layout in the new apartment and smiled to herself, thinking she had found the perfect place for Aaron's favorite chair. Glancing at the kitchen table, she suddenly stopped as she saw a mug and used teabag that had not been there when she left. _How did that get there_, she thought before she was grabbed from behind.

"Duct tape. Such a useful item," Whitcomb commented as he placed a strip of tape across her mouth. "You may not remember me, Mrs. Logan, but we met briefly at a White House party some time ago." He was now wearing janitorial overalls and had ransacked Slater's office for rope, tape and a knife after hiding Slater's body in one of the lockers; Martha was now tied to one of the kitchen chairs. "I had to deprive your building of its janitor, by the way. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's no great loss. You should warn your landlord to screen his employees more carefully. Now, if you'll excuse me for a moment, I need to make a phone call. You and I have some traveling to do." He moved out of earshot and dialed Graem's number.

"It's Christian. Listen carefully. I'm leaving the country today and I need transportation."

"What are you talking about?"

"Charles Logan is dead. He was going to give all of us up, Graem. I had no choice."

"Oh, my God. You've killed Logan? Do you realize every federal agent in the country will be after you?"

"Yes, I do, and that's why you're going to help me. It's in your best interests to do this, Graem. Get me a helicopter with a pilot and have a boat waiting at your father's beach house. I'll need it stocked with enough supplies for two weeks, just to cover all contingencies."

"Where are you planning to go? Don't you want the jet instead?"

"Planes are too easily tracked. I'm heading to Cuba to start with. I can make further arrangements once I get there."

"How do you know you won't be stopped?" Graem demanded.

"I have an insurance policy with me. Her name is Martha Powell Logan. If anyone tries to stop me, she will be killed."

"This is a mistake, Christian. The public loves Martha Logan; they don't give a damn about her ex-husband. If you just leave—"

"I'll be stopped within a day. I can't get away without her. The Feds may be glad Logan is dead, but that doesn't mean they'll just stand by and let his killer out of the country. I think I'm safer with her than without her. There's no time to argue about this, Graem. Get me that helicopter, and make sure it's piloted by somebody that you trust."

"Okay." Graem capitulated. "Where do you want to be picked up?"

Whitcomb gave him coordinates for a spot about an hour outside of the city. "There's a shopping mall there that closed about six months ago, with a big empty parking lot. He can wait for us there. It'll be safe for takeoff and landing, and very few people should be around."

"I'll call you back to confirm," Graem hastily agreed. "Before you get on that helicopter, get rid of your cell phone. Destroy it if you can. If it's found it'll lead them straight to me. Once the Secret Service figure out Martha Logan's gone, they'll use GPS to track you; you won't be able to use that phone again." Christian agreed and ended the call. Graem slumped at his desk wondering what to do, but realized after a few moments that he had no choice. He dialed another number, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach.

"This is Graem Bauer. I need to speak to my father. It's urgent!"

Agent Mitchell, now officially recognized as Aaron Pierce's administrative assistant, had just finished checking Aaron's schedule for the coming week when his phone rang. The display registered "Blocked," highly unusual since the Service offices had equipment capable of tracing most telephone numbers. Frowning, he picked up the phone and sat in shock as he heard the tense voice of the man on the other end:

"I'm only going to say this once. Martha Powell has been kidnapped by a man named Christian Whitcomb. She's about to be taken out of the country. If you want to stop him you need to write this down."

Mitchell fumbled for a pen. "Okay, I'm listening." He quickly noted the address and the fact that Whitcomb was planning to leave by helicopter. "Who is this?"

"Somebody who wishes her well." Graem hung up the phone and left his office. _I hope Dad was right about this,_ he thought, _or we're all in trouble_.

Mitchell quickly dialed the number to Martha's apartment. Receiving no answer, he tried the number of the Service agent assigned to Martha's building.

"Tyler? This is Mitchell. I just got an anonymous tip that Martha Powell has been kidnapped. What's going on?"

"Nothing. I haven't heard anything. Want me to check things out?"

"Get in there and look." Mitchell drummed his fingers nervously on the desk, waiting as he heard the agent call distantly, "Ms. Powell? Are you there?" followed by a few muffled sounds of movement. Suddenly Agent Tyler came back on the line, reporting in clipped sentences.

"She's not here. There's been a struggle and it looks like somebody's been tied to a chair. That's all I can tell you."

"Get down to the basement and find the janitor. His name's Slater. Call me back as soon as you can." Mitchell pushed his chair back and ran down the hall to Aaron's office; his phone rang again just as he finished telling his story to Aaron.

"The janitor's dead, and Ms. Powell's car is missing," Tyler reported. "I'm calling Agent Cardona now."

White-faced, Aaron grabbed his phone and called Angie. "Angie? Martha's missing. We think she may have been kidnapped. Where are you?"

"I've been out running errands; Martha needed some stuff done for the wedding. The last time I saw her was this morning. When did this happen?"

"We just got an anonymous tip about ten minutes ago." Aaron forced himself to think clearly; panic was slowing his ability to reason. "Angie, I've got to go. I'll call you as soon as I get any news of Martha." He hung up and turned to Mitchell. "Okay. We know where they're going and we know they're using Ms. Powell's car. Put out an APB on it but make it clear that if they're spotted, no one is to stop them, just report in on their location. We're going out there with every agent I can get."

Meanwhile Whitcomb had taken Martha to the garage via the service stairs and had forced her into the car at gunpoint. She was now driving slowly through the mid-afternoon Washington traffic, following his instructions. "Take your time," he commented. "We don't want to get stopped for any traffic violations." He leaned back in the passenger seat and looked at Martha with curiosity. "Your pictures don't do you justice, Mrs. Logan," he commented, smiling. "Not many women of my acquaintance would look this good after being taken hostage."

"I don't go by that name anymore." Martha was gripping the wheel tensely.

"Ah, yes. You've gone back to your maiden name, haven't you? I was respecting your ex-husband's wishes. He still refers to you as his wife."

"You worked with Charles." Martha made it a statement, not a question.

"We've had a long association, yes."

"And Walt Cummings? I do remember you, Mr. Whitcomb. Walt introduced us at that party."

"So he did. Yes, I worked with Walt, but that got a little tricky. I was working for your husband at the same time, you see, and I couldn't allow Walt to know that." Whitcomb gave a snort of amusement. "A conspiracy within a conspiracy, if you will."

Martha felt a jolt of anger go through her. "I'm surprised Charles had time to run the country with all this going on."

"He had plenty of help. Myself and my associates on one side, and Walt and your friend Novick on the other. All Charles had to do was look helpless and people fell over themselves to step in and show him what to do." Christian shrugged. "It worked well for a while, but of course it all blew up in his face eventually."

"What about Gene Dunlap?"

"What about him?"

Martha took her eyes off the traffic long enough to give him a sharp look. "I'm assuming you killed him. That's the theory the Washington police had, from what I understand."

"Well, who am I to argue with the police? Speculate as you will."

"And Walt Cummings? We know he didn't commit suicide."

"I'm quite certain he didn't, Mrs. Logan, but I don't know who was responsible for his death. I'm flattered that you think it might have been me, but I'm a creature of habit, and my habitat of choice is Washington. I haven't been in California in years." Whitcomb looked speculatively out the window. "I wouldn't be surprised if it were one of the Service agents that Charles recruited. Perhaps the same one that tried to kill your fiancé."

Martha shuddered, remembering that Adams had guarded her for hours after Walt's death. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were right," she answered, and fell silent.

"Down here," Whitcomb ordered a few minutes later, indicating an alley. Martha stopped the car and sat as he duct-taped her hands to the wheel. "This won't take a minute," he added and removed the keys from the ignition. She watched as he dismantled his cell phone, dropping broken pieces into various trashcans and down an open storm drain, and then returned to the car. "A basic precaution," he explained. "I don't want your friends tracing us."

"We're driving my car," Martha pointed out. "Anybody can trace a license plate."

"True, but we're nearly there and I think we can risk it. Just a few miles further." He gestured with the gun.

Soon they pulled into a large, empty parking lot. For a moment Martha hoped they might attract the attention of someone passing by, but noting the deserted buildings and "For Sale" sign she realized her chances of doing so were slim. She stopped the car and asked, "What now?"

"Now we wait." Whitcomb gave another quick look at his watch. "It shouldn't be too much longer—"

With a sudden roar half a dozen cars burst from behind the nearest building; additional agents, all of them armed, appeared from behind the walls. In less than thirty seconds they were surrounded.

"Whitcomb, listen to me." Martha felt a huge sense of relief as she heard Aaron's calm voice, magnified by a speaker. "Your helicopter isn't coming. We know you have Martha Powell with you. Let her go. Give yourself up now and you won't be hurt."

Whitcomb cursed bitterly. "They sold me out," he muttered in disbelief. "After all I did for them! Don't move," he added to Martha, who sat as if frozen. She forced herself to breathe deeply, fighting her panic.

"Aaron Pierce doesn't lie," she answered, trying to keep her voice calm. "If he says you won't be hurt, you won't be. You have information we need. If you want to negotiate with him, we'll have to get out of the car."

Whitcomb considered for a moment, then nodded. "Bring your hands over here." He taped her wrists together, reached over her and unlocked the car door. "Open the door and get out, slowly. I'll do the same. Remember, no sudden movements." He raised the gun to emphasize his point. "When you're out of the car, walk over to me."

Trying to hide her shaking, Martha did as he said. Looking around, she saw Cardona's anxious face; Aaron was just behind him.

"I'm not giving myself up to you, Pierce. I can assure you I have no intention of hurting Ms. Powell if you do as I say. I want safe passage out of the country. There's a private airfield not far from here. I am going to get back in the car with my hostage, we are going to drive there and you will make arrangements to supply us with a plane. If you try to stop me from leaving, I will kill her. If you cooperate I will leave her unharmed at my first stop."

"Why should we believe you?" Cardona bellowed back.

"I'm not a fool. I know that if I kill her, you won't stop until you find me. So I won't kill her."

An agent wearing an FBI jacket pushed forward to confer with Aaron. Under cover of this distraction, Martha whispered quickly: "This isn't going to work."

"Shut up." Whitcomb's hand tightened on the gun.

"If you tell us what you know they'll cut you a deal. You wouldn't have to do much prison time."

Whitcomb shook his head. "They won't cut me any sort of deal."

"They did it for Charles. They'll do it for you."

"Presidential assassins don't get deals," he answered tightly. "When they find out what's happened they'll lock me up for life, and frankly, I'd rather be dead."

"_What?" _

"Would I have drawn attention to myself by taking you hostage if I'd had any choice? I killed Logan at the prison earlier today. I knew he was going to talk. We couldn't allow that to happen."

Rage shot through Martha. "You _bastard!_" she screamed, shoving him as hard as she could. Christian had not expected her reaction and was knocked off balance; before he could recover himself she was running toward Aaron. Whitcomb spun around, raised his gun arm—

Cardona and Mitchell fired together and watched as the last connection to the Logan conspiracy fell dead.

Aaron held Martha tightly, not sure which of them was shaking more. "Martha. Thank God," he muttered. "It's all over. You're okay."

Martha willed herself not to collapse. "He shot Charles, Aaron! He told me he shot Charles. Call the prison now. Please!"

Aaron asked no further questions, but pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed. Cardona, having checked to make sure Whitcomb was dead, moved to stand next to them.

"This is Agent Aaron Pierce of the Secret Service. We have news that Charles Logan was attacked—" he paused. "Thank you," he said quietly, and passed the phone to Jon.

"They found him in the library, Martha. He's dead."

"Oh, God," was all Martha could manage. "It's my fault—"

"No, Martha! It wasn't!"

But Martha had collapsed.


	28. Chapter 28

She was tied in the chair, unable to move. Whitcomb was approaching her with smiling menace. She saw blood on his hands and realized Charles was lying behind him on the floor, dead. As she grew steadily more terrified, she heard him speak: "You're next, Martha," he said calmly. "Make it easy on yourself. Don't fight me…"

Martha woke with a gasp. Sitting up in bed, she realized where she was: surrounded by moving boxes in a not-yet-familiar bedroom, with Aaron lying next to her. She sat, shivering, with her face in her hands; then she felt him stir and hold out his arms. She crawled into them, letting his presence calm her racing heartbeat.

"I'm sorry," she whispered finally, still shaking.

"Don't be sorry." He rubbed her back comfortingly and kissed her forehead. "I just wish I could make these dreams go away."

"I wish you could too. This is the third time this week." Overcome with emotion, she buried her face in his chest and started to sob. Aaron held her, stroking her hair; a few minutes later she calmed down. "I'm a wreck," she muttered. "I thought I was getting better, but I guess I'm not."

"Why should you say that?" Aaron demanded. "What you've been through would stress anyone out. Dr. Young told you that. It's going to take time, that's all."

"She did say that. It's just hard for me to believe that I'm not to blame for this somehow."

_And we both know that's Charles' legacy,_ Aaron thought bitterly. He had noticed before that under stress Martha reverted to the nervous, brittle person she had been when she was married to Charles Logan. It was easy for her to view herself as unbalanced and weak, and it worried Aaron to see her like this. He sighed and framed his next question carefully: "Martha, would you want to think about rescheduling the wedding?"

She had begun to wipe his chest dry with the sheet. At first she seemed not to have heard him, but then she looked up. "I… no. I don't. Do you?"

"No. I just want to make sure this isn't all too much for you. The move, the funeral, planning a wedding—" he shrugged, letting his sentence trail off.

"Getting kidnapped…" she finished dryly. "I'm fine, Aaron. Really. Angie's doing most of the planning, anyway. All I have to do is tell her what kind of flowers I want and show up for the dress fitting. Bill and Ann are doing the barbecue, so I don't even have to worry about a reception. This has got to be the most pain-free wedding in history." She kissed him. "Besides, I don't want to wait any longer. I want to get married now. It's time for us to start over." In the darkened bedroom she could not see his face, but she could sense his love and concern. She felt a stab of guilt, knowing how worried he had to be to consider canceling the wedding, and put her arms around him. "Make love to me, Aaron. I just want to be with you and forget everything else." She kissed his mouth and as much of his face as she could reach.

Ever since Charles' death Martha's emotions had been fluctuating wildly. Like a compass needle without direction, she shifted from rage when she remembered his betrayal to pity when she thought of him lying dead and alone in the library. The funeral had been an ordeal in itself. Charles' brother George, whom she had never liked, declined any responsibility for the arrangements and was happy to let Martha take over. Aaron had objected, but Martha was firm: "I just want it over with, Aaron, and George isn't capable of doing anything." She had decided to hold a private service in the California church where she and Charles had been married, thinking it would be the most appropriate place, but she had not anticipated the agonizing memories that assaulted her from the moment the service began. Martha was already jittery due to the presence of the media clustered across the street, and the funeral became an endurance contest for her rather than a chance to say goodbye. Aaron's presence was her anchor and she clutched his hand throughout the service. Crying silently, she scattered Charles' ashes at sea the next day as Aaron watched, wondering what was going through her mind.

Martha's emotional exhaustion made it easy for her to wonder if she had been to blame for Charles' murder. On the one occasion she had voiced her doubts to Aaron he had told her in no uncertain terms that she was not responsible for what had happened. "Your instincts were right. Charles was the only one who could help us break the conspiracy; we tried every other lead but we kept coming up against dead ends. If you've got to blame someone other than Charles for what happened to him, put the blame on me, not yourself. I wanted to find these people just as much as you did."

"Blame you? Of course not!"

He had smiled. "Then don't blame yourself, Martha." The subject was closed, but she could not shake herself free of guilt. She became more anxious and restless by the day. Dr. Young reversed the taper of Martha's medication dosage, increasing it back to what it had been immediately after the terrorist attacks, but even with increasing the frequency of her appointments Martha's symptoms were slow to improve. She had been shielded from most of the publicity associated with Logan's murder since Hal Gardiner, at Aaron's request, had agreed to withhold the details of the kidnapping from the news media. Despite these interventions her panic attacks continued, alarming Angie as well as Aaron. Soon Martha's resolve to quit cigarettes broke and she started smoking again; worse yet, Aaron had an uneasy feeling that she was drinking more as well.

Her appetite disappeared to the point that Neil Roston had chided her at the last dress fitting: "My dear, promise me you'll make an effort. I can't take the dress in any further without destroying the design, but more important, you really aren't looking that well." Martha had forced a smile in response: "I understand, Neil. I promise to be good. I don't want to lose any more weight either." Finally, hoping that a change of surroundings would calm Martha's anxiety, Aaron suggested that they leave for Texas sooner than they had planned; after a short discussion, Martha agreed.

On their arrival the Pierces were shocked by the change in Martha's appearance. "She's as thin as a rail, Bill," Ann whispered. With Aaron's approval, Angie quickly took them aside to explain the details of the ordeal Martha had been through. Ann and Barbara were stunned to hear what had happened, and promised not to bring up the topic with either Aaron or Martha. "They really don't want to think about it if they can help it," Angie explained.

Late that afternoon as he was leaving for the stables Bill Pierce passed Martha pacing and smoking on the patio. Concerned, he stopped and looked at her, searching for something to say. "You look like you're at a little bit of a loose end," he managed uncomfortably.

"I know, Bill." She glanced at her cigarette and gave him a guilty smile. "I haven't been doing that well lately, and I know Aaron's worried about me. I just can't seem to pull myself together after everything that's happened."

Her jumpiness somehow reminded Bill of Candy. This thought inspired him to suggest: "Why don't you come out to the stables with me? When I'm upset about something, going out there seems to work. It helps me think."

"That sounds great. Let me just go tell Aaron." A few minutes later, followed by Agent Mitchell, they headed toward the stables in Bill's pickup. Once there Martha wandered into the tack room, noting the bridles and other gear piled there awaiting cleaning.

"I've been meaning to get to those, but it's been a little busy," Bill muttered apologetically.

Martha suddenly realized that her fingers were itching to do something. Hoping to stave off the craving for another cigarette, she volunteered: "If you show me where the saddle soap is, I'll start on these." She began taking the bridles apart and scrubbing them as Bill fed the horses. A sudden clatter of hooves and a muffled oath drew her attention.

"Sorry, Martha. It's Candy. I knew she was high-strung when I bought her, but I just can't get her to settle down. Seems like every little thing sets her off."

Martha gave a wry smile. "I know the feeling." She walked over to the stall, leaned on the door and began to talk to Candy in a soothing tone. After a moment Candy pricked her ears forward and moved toward the door, allowing Martha to stroke her neck.

"She needs a brushing, but she hates it when I do it," Bill said, observing that Martha was getting on well with the mare. "Want to try?"

"Sure." Bill led Candy into a larger box, handed the brushes to Martha and stood back to watch as Martha began grooming her, never stopping her gentle talk to the mare. A few minutes later Aaron walked in quietly and joined Bill in watching Martha's work. "How's it going?" he asked in an undertone.

"Going great," Bill answered, grinning. "She handles Candy better than I do."

It took forty-five minutes for Martha to finish grooming Candy, but she had a look of accomplishment as she led the mare back to her stall. "My arms!" she laughed, holding an aching tricep. "I'm going to be sore tomorrow."

That night Martha slept better then she had for weeks. Pleased with the success of his suggestion, Bill gave Martha a standing invitation to accompany him to the stables daily. Often his sons came with them, curious to get to know their prospective aunt better. Candy's disposition improved markedly with her attention and Martha became absorbed in the everyday routine of the ranch. She confided their retirement plans to Bill, who was delighted at the prospect of them returning to Texas, and they began to discuss the local real estate market. "You don't want anything too big now," he cautioned. "I'll look around for you. I know some people who might be interested in selling in the next few years."

Relieved of her concerns about Martha, Angie was happy to encourage her to spend as much time at the stables as possible. She spent most of her time catching up with Ann and Barbara and finalizing the plans for the wedding, but it soon became clear to her that Barbara had problems of her own. She was not as outgoing as usual and her normally amusing observations about their neighbors were now tinged with sarcasm. One afternoon she surprised Angie by losing her temper with the church's wedding coordinator, a humorless woman in her seventies who felt the only proper color choice for weddings was pink. As they left the church Angie gave her a puzzled look: "Barb, is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine, Angie. Really." Barbara sighed. "I just need to learn a little more patience with Mary Sue, that's all."

Noticing that Ann was careful to say nothing, Angie left the subject for the moment. Once Barbara had been dropped off in town she asked bluntly: "Ann, what's going on? I've never seen Barb lose her temper like that."

Ann took her eyes from the road a moment and nodded. "I didn't want to say anything in front of Barbara, but she's been a little depressed lately. She started dating again and it hasn't worked out that well."

Angie frowned. "Matt's been dead, what, three years now?"

"A little longer than that. After the first year we started to encourage Barb to go out, but she wouldn't hear of it. She kept saying she wasn't ready to think about dating. Matt was a good guy, but it's time she started socializing more, and the kids need a father. We couldn't change her mind until she saw how happy Aaron was with Martha. After the last time you all were here, she said to me: I want that. And then she met a guy posted at Fort Bliss that she really liked and it seemed like things were going fine. Until we found out he was dating Diane, too."

"You're kidding. _Both_ of them?"

"Yep, both. Neither one of them knew about the other."

Angie started to grin. "Sorry, but it actually sounds kind of funny to me. What happened?"

"Barbara overreacted. She said she never wanted to see the guy again. Diane wasn't too happy about it either, but she kept on dating him. From what I hear these days it sounds like she's really whipped him into shape. It's as much as his life's worth to step out on her now." Ann chuckled.

"I'm sure," Angie said dryly. "What do you bet Diane winds up marrying him?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. Anyway, Barbara won't admit this but her ego took a hit. I told her she couldn't expect a perfect romance the first crack out of the box, but…" Ann shrugged. "She hasn't dated anybody since."

"That's too bad." Angie looked sympathetic. "There's nobody in town she's interested in?"

"There's this one guy Bill knows fairly well. He's an accountant, divorced. His daughter is in the same grade as Barbara's daughter, they get along and he seems really nice. We're trying not to push her. I told her that just because Matt was in the Army it doesn't mean she has to date exclusively Army guys."

"I spent more than twenty years in the Army, Ann. Trust me, they're not all husband material by a long shot."

At her first opportunity Angie told Martha of Barbara's dilemma, thinking it would help pull her out of her depression. She was right; Martha was struck by Angie's news. "I was so lucky I had Aaron," she commented thoughtfully. "I can't imagine what it would have been like to try to date again. I've heard enough about that from Jane. She had a lot of dating disasters after her divorce." Over the next several days Angie was pleased to see Martha spending more time with Barbara and her children, trying to cheer her up.

Nathan arrived a few days before the wedding, greeting his father and soon-to-be stepmother with hugs. "Good to see you, Dad. Em, how are you? Getting wedding nerves?" he asked teasingly.

"Not a bit. I don't think I've been this relaxed in ages," she retorted cheerfully. "Your aunts and Angie won't let me do a thing, so I've been helping your Uncle Bill with the horses and learning how to run the ranch. It's great fun."

"I have no idea what's supposed to happen during the wedding, Em. Can you fill me in? The only thing I know is I'm a groomsman. I suppose I'll have to go get fitted for my tuxedo tomorrow," Nathan added with a grimace. "I hate those things."

Martha explained that a barbecue at the ranch would follow the ceremony. "You can get out of your tux as soon as the wedding's over," she reassured him. "I imagine everybody will be wearing jeans. Comfortable clothes, anyway."

Nathan's eyes lit up. "Did you get a band?"

"Yes, we did. Your Aunt Barbara took care of that."

"I hope you can two-step, Em. That's kind of the standard dance around here."

"I don't know the two-step," Martha confessed. "It's a good thing you mentioned it, Nathan. I would never have thought of that."

"Let me show you." Nathan jumped up and switched on the radio. "It's easy, I promise." He turned up the music and led Martha to the center of the room.

"Okay, Em. Here we go." He demonstrated the step slowly, then started to dance in time with the music. "Keep going this way. Left, right, left. That's it," he instructed as they slowly made the circuit of the room. Drawn by the sound of the radio, Aaron looked in and smiled as he watched his son dance with Martha, who was giggling and trying to concentrate on the steps: On impulse, he walked over and tapped Nate on the shoulder. "Mind if I cut in?"

"Be my guest." Nathan stepped back and watched with satisfaction as Aaron took Martha around the room and then noticed Jennifer standing in the doorway. He smiled and held out his hand. "C'mon, Jen."

Jennifer's face lit up as she took her cousin's hand and started to dance. On the other side of the room, Martha sighed and relaxed into Aaron's arms. "We haven't danced since Christmas," she whispered.

"I know. We should do this more often."

"When we're on our honeymoon, I want to dance with you every night." She snuggled her head into Aaron's shoulder. "By the way, where are we going?"

Aaron chuckled. "I thought you'd never ask. Do you want it to be a surprise, or should I tell you now?"

"Well, considering we'll be there in three days I think this qualifies as a surprise, don't you? C'mon. I'll be really, really nice to you if you tell me," she added teasingly.

Aaron capitulated instantly. "Mexico. We're going to Mexico. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful. Where exactly?"

"It's a little place on the Gulf of California, quiet, wonderful beach, has its own pool and the food's supposed to be great."

Martha's expression suddenly turned from delighted to apprehensive. "But Aaron, I didn't bring my passport."

"Got it. Angie got it for me from your desk."

"You are wonderful." Martha hugged him. "Can I have another dance lesson tomorrow?"

Time sped by and soon it was the day before the wedding. The wedding rehearsal was simple and straightforward, but as Martha stood next to Aaron in the church she felt her heart beginning to pound. _Maybe I am getting wedding nerves after all_, she thought, but she knew the butterflies in her stomach came from joy, not panic. Aaron looked over at her and took her hand. "Excited?" he whispered. All she could do was grin and nod her head. He waited until the minister had turned away to talk to Angie and gave her a quick kiss.

Aaron's phone rang as they were leaving the church. After a brief conversation, he hung up and turned to Martha. "They're here. We're going to pick them up at the motel." Mike, Jane, and Jon Cardona and his wife had just finished checking in when they arrived. As they headed for their rooms, luggage in hand, Martha ran to the window.

"What is it, Martha?"

"I want to see something." Suddenly she gave a gasp of excitement. "They're sharing a room, Aaron! Mike and Jane are in the same room!"

"Martha, do we really need to know that?" Aaron looked slightly scandalized at her curiosity.

"I introduced them, remember? You'd better believe I want to know."

Dinner was served at a long table on the patio, which Nathan and Aaron had set up earlier in the day as preparation for the barbecue. During a pause in the conversation near the end of the meal, Aaron cleared his throat and stood up.

"I'd like to thank everyone who traveled here to be with us tonight. As you know, Martha and I chose to have a small wedding and we really appreciate your presence. It means a lot to us." He paused for a moment and then continued.

"I wanted to share with all of you just how happy I am… I want to tell you how Martha has changed my life. If anyone had told me two years ago that this day would ever come – that I could find someone I care so much about and who cares about me – I would never have believed it. I would have been afraid to hope that it could be true. I would have told you that my destiny was never to marry again and that I was happy that way. It would have been a lie, but that's what I would have said.

"We went through the worst day of our lives together, and it changed everything. After it was over we had a lot to recover from – Martha more than me." He touched her shoulder for a moment. "But we had each other, we knew we could depend on each other, and from that experience came everything that's happened since. Without her support I would not have stayed in the Service. I wouldn't have the job I have today. More important, I could never have trusted anyone again. I love her more than I thought I could love anyone, I rely on her absolutely, and I know it will always be that way. So if you will join me now, I'd like to give a toast to Martha."

As he raised his glass, the entire table stood. "To Martha!" they chorused, and drank.

Frantically blotting her eyes with her napkin, Martha found herself unable to say anything for a moment until she saw the emotion on Gertrude's face. She gave Aaron a watery smile, stood next to him and took his hand.

"I wish I could say everything that I want to say, but I know I'll never get through it without breaking down. So I'll just say that Aaron means everything to me. What he told you is true; we've been a team ever since that day. But I never thought I would be lucky enough to have him for a husband. And I never thought I would be lucky enough to have you for a family," she finished, her voice wavering. "You made me well again. I want you all to know that."

Tearfully, Barbara stood and hugged her, followed by Jennifer, Ann and Bill and Nate and, finally, Gertrude. "I know you're the right wife for Aaron, Martha," she whispered. "I'm so glad you're marrying him."

The next morning in the bustle of getting ready to head for the church Barbara heard a knock at the door; opening it, she blinked at the tall man standing on the doorstep. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"This is the home of Agent Pierce, yes? Aaron Pierce?"

"He's staying here, yes. I'm his sister."

The man bowed. "It is a pleasure to meet you. May I speak to him for a moment? I have come from Washington to deliver a wedding gift. My name is Ivan Kryukov. I worked with your brother in Moscow."


	29. Chapter 29

**OK, this is the last chapter of "Aftermath." Hope you enjoyed it. I have started work on a sequel called "Em and Aaron," but since its relation to 24 is a bit more tenuous than "Aftermath," I'm not sure whether to post it. Let me know what you think.**

At a loss, Barbara hesitated for a moment; then she caught a twinkle in Kryukov's eye and smiled. "Of course. Please, come in."

Hastening down the hall, she saw Aaron standing distractedly in the kitchen. "Aaron! There's somebody here to see you. He says he knows you from Moscow. His name's Ivan… something."

"Kryukov?"

"I think so. He says he has a wedding present for you and he came from Washington."

Grabbing his sister's arm, Aaron headed for the front door. His face split into a grin as he saw Kryukov standing patiently in the hall. "Ivan Kryukov! How are you?" As they shook hands, he added, "What brings you here, and how did you find me?"

"It is good to see you, Aaron. I am here to deliver a present from President and Mrs. Suvarov. I asked if I could bring it to you personally, but I did not intend to interrupt you on your wedding day… which, I gather, I did," he added, eyeing Barbara, whose pale yellow chiffon dress clearly telegraphed _bridesmaid_. "As to how I found you, I considered it a challenge, although your Service was able to give me some useful directions."

Aaron chuckled. "You haven't interrupted anything. The wedding isn't for another two hours. Come in, have some coffee – let me get Martha, she'll be very happy to see you. Barb, take him to the kitchen and we'll be right there," he added.

A few minutes later a bewildered Martha hurried into the kitchen. "Agent Kryukov!" she beamed, holding out her hands. "It's wonderful that you're here! Aaron tells me you came all this way to bring us a present?"

"At the request of President and Mrs. Suvarov, yes." Kryukov gestured to a large box wrapped in white tissue paper. "Open it."

The box held an antique samovar made of copper with a beautifully enameled design. "Mrs. Suvarov chose it herself," Kryukov explained. "She hopes you will enjoy it."

"It's beautiful." Martha carefully set the samovar in a shaft of sunlight, admiring the gleaming metal. "It will have a place of honor in our home, I can promise you." Glancing at her watch, she added, "I have to finish getting ready, but please do come to the wedding. It's very small, just the family and a few friends, but we would love it if you could be there with us."

"Absolutely!" Aaron agreed. "You'll be very welcome, Ivan. After the ceremony we'll come back here for a meal." He pulled out a chair from the table. "Sit down, tell me what you've been doing lately."

Martha shot him a look. "You will be there on time, won't you?"

Kryukov chuckled. "Have no fear. He will be there on time."

True to his word, Kryukov shepherded Aaron and Bill into the church a good thirty minutes before the ceremony, remaining near the back for a moment to eye the street for suspicious characters. Jon introduced him to the Service agents posted at the back of the church and was glad to see that Kryukov remembered Agent Mitchell. Meanwhile at the front of the sanctuary Bill and Aaron conferred briefly with the minister, while Nathan tried to straighten his bow tie for the fourth or fifth time. Finally Kryukov took him aside and adjusted the tie so that it sat evenly: "It's part of my job," he smiled. "I wear black tie quite often in the course of my work."

Upstairs Barbara, Ann and Jennifer were making the final adjustments to Martha's dress. Ann stood behind her, fastening her buttons while Jennifer held the veil ready.

"Here, Martha. This is for your hair." Barbara carefully pulled a few strands of Martha's hair back from each side of her face, fastening them with a small blue hair clip. "Now the veil goes over this. This is your 'something borrowed and something blue.'"

"The dress is new, right? What's old?" Jennifer inquired.

"My earrings. They're my favorites." Martha adjusted them carefully. They had been an anniversary gift from Charles many years before, and it felt right to her to wear a memento from her past as she began a new life.

Angie bustled into the dressing room. "The minister is giving us the go sign. Everything ready?"

"We're ready." Martha flashed her a grin and took a final look in the mirror. "Jen, you do great work. This is fantastic." She hugged each of them, took a deep breath and said, "All right, ladies, let's go downstairs."

Because of the small size of the wedding party, Martha and Aaron had chosen to hold the ceremony in the church's ancillary chapel. They both liked the intimate feel of the smaller space. There was no grand procession: Aaron, standing near the altar, felt slightly conspicuous until the doors at the back were pulled open and Ann walked quietly down the aisle. Barbara, the matron of honor, followed her and then Martha stood at the back of the chapel with the afternoon sunshine lighting her hair. Aaron, staring at her, forgot everything else. _She's radiant_, he thought.

Martha had elected to walk down the aisle without an escort. "I don't think I need anyone to give me away, do you?" she'd asked Aaron. "Besides, who would do it? Mike?" Aaron had laughed and agreed. In the few moments it took for her to reach him, he knew she had been right; she needed no one's help. Remembering the challenges she had faced and conquered in the past year, he felt proud and amazed that she had agreed to marry him. As Martha reached his side, they looked at one another for a moment, linked hands and turned to face the minister.

"These pictures are taking longer than it did for us to get married," Aaron muttered.

"I know, sweetheart, but it'll be worth it when we see them. He's almost done." Martha patted his shoulder. A few minutes later the photographer released them and with sighs of relief the wedding party headed out of the church. "What's this?" Aaron wondered, coming to a halt at the curb: A white vintage convertible was awaiting them, driven by a young man wearing a Stetson, a tuxedo and a huge grin. Nathan whooped, ran over and pounded the driver on the back. "Dad, you remember Frank Emerson, don't you?" he demanded. "We borrowed the car from his dad. I didn't want to tell you in case Mr. Emerson wouldn't let us take it."

"You're kidding! Nathan, this is fantastic." Aaron hugged his son and shook Frank's hand. "His dad collects vintage cars," he explained to Martha. "Frank, be sure to tell your dad I said thank you." Opening the rear door, he ushered Martha in and then joined her in the back seat. Frank tooted the horn in celebration as they pulled away from the church, waved back at the rest of the wedding party and headed for the ranch.

"Don't change yet. You have to have your first dance in your wedding clothes." Gertrude intercepted Aaron and Bill as they were headed upstairs.

The brothers glanced at each other. "Ah, Mom. This monkey suit is driving me nuts," Bill objected.

"It's just one dance. You boys look so nice in your suits. Please?"

Aaron grinned and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Mom's right, Bill. Martha and Ann spent a lot of time getting ready. I think they'd love a dance in their good clothes. Let's go make our wives happy."

As Aaron led Martha to the dance floor, the band struck up a slow tune. Martha had wondered what sort of first dance a country-western band would have in its repertoire, but suddenly she recognized the words:

Come with me, my love 

_To the sea_

_The sea of love…_

She closed her eyes and held him tightly as they made the circuit of the patio to the applause of the family. Then Bill and Ann joined them, as did Jane and Mike.

Barbara stood alone watching the couples on the dance floor. Although both Aaron and Martha had asked her to invite someone to the wedding, she had refused, insisting that she would be fine on her own. She felt desolate for a moment, until she felt a light tap on her shoulder.

"Shall we dance?" Kryukov asked her.

The barbecue was a huge success. Everyone was in a mood to celebrate, there was plenty to eat and the casual feel of the reception was something everyone appreciated. Barbara was clearly having a wonderful time, as she danced with Kryukov, Mike and even Nathan. Mike took Martha for a spin around the dance floor, which gave her a chance to speak with him.

"You look happy, Mike."

"I am, Martha," he smiled. "Life is good. I'm really enjoying myself for the first time in a long time."

"Jane looks happy, too."

Mike raised an eyebrow. "I believe she is. I certainly hope she is. She's made me very happy."

Martha smiled. "She says the two of you are having a wonderful time. She told me you spoil her rotten."

"Well, she deserves it. You know that just as well as I do. I'm trying to slow down a bit, I don't want to spend all that much time at work these days. I don't want to neglect her."

Martha hugged him. "Mike, I'm so happy for both of you. I think you're really good for each other."

"I think we are too," Mike nodded. "I don't want to rush things, but I think we're both in this for the long term. I promised myself I'm not going to disappoint Jane again – she's been through that too many times."

She kissed his cheek affectionately. "Terrific. Just invite us to the wedding, okay?"

"Martha!" He laughed. "Give me a chance to propose, would you?"

All too soon it was time for them to leave. Martha had packed the night before, and their suitcases were standing ready at the front door when she and Aaron took a last farewell of the family and prepared to head for the El Paso airport, chauffeured in style in the Emerson's convertible. "She rides great, Mrs. Pierce. I think you'll be really comfortable," Frank smiled, gesturing to the car. Martha blinked for a second, adjusting to her new married name with an inner thrill. "I'm sure we will be. Thank you so much for doing this. And thank you, Nathan," she added, giving her new stepson a hug. "This was so thoughtful of you." Nathan grinned and kissed her cheek. "Anything for you, Em. You're the best thing that ever happened to Dad," he whispered.

A few hours later Aaron and Martha found themselves in Mexico en route to their hotel. As they walked into the lobby, Martha realized that she was feeling slightly self-conscious. _I'm grinning like an idiot_, she thought. _We must look like typical honeymooners_. She shrugged off her embarrassment after a moment, feeling a deep contentment at being nothing more than part of an average honeymoon couple. She stood to one side, smiling at her husband, as the management checked them in; then Aaron took her hand and led her across the patio, following the bellboy with their luggage. Martha felt her heart beginning to pound with anticipation as they as they approached the door to their room – but suddenly their path was blocked by none other than Jon Cardona. "Sorry, Aaron, you know the rules," he apologized with a grin. He took the room key from the staffer, waved Martha and Aaron to one side and walked into the suite, accompanied by a very uncomfortable looking Agent Mitchell. He began looking behind curtains, under the bed and inspecting the picture frames in a leisurely manner. "Mitchell, check the bathroom, would you?" he added. After about three minutes Martha began to look impatient; in five she was tapping her foot and glaring at Aaron, who was beginning to look slightly annoyed himself.

"Jon, is this absolutely necessary?" she snapped.

"Yes, ma'am. Tabloids." Cardona's reply was terse.

"Tabloids?" Martha squeaked.

"I can think of a lot of papers that would pay good money for a picture of you on your honeymoon." Martha looked stricken. Jon relented and added, "I admit part of this was me giving Aaron a hard time, but we can't be too careful." As Mitchell exited the bathroom he glanced between the two of them and asked, "Sure you don't want me to stick around? Get up a game of cribbage or something?"

"Do you know where this suitcase is going to be in thirty seconds if you don't leave?" Martha responded icily.

"I'll take that as a no." Cardona laughed. "Call me in the morning or if you need anything."

"I can't believe this. How are we supposed to enjoy our honeymoon without any privacy at all?" Having shut the door behind Jon, Martha was visibly upset.

"Martha." Aaron walked across the room to hug her. "I don't enjoy having company on my honeymoon any more than you do, but after what happened, you know we didn't have a choice. President Gardner had to convince Congress to agree to your exemption for the next six months – you were supposed to be disqualified for Secret Service protection as soon as you married again. I'm grateful that he did that."

Martha sighed. "I am too, Aaron. It was nice of him, and you're right, we didn't have a choice. But I am not going to have Agent Mitchell trailing around after me like a lost dog for the next five days. I'll push him into the pool if he tries it."

Aaron laughed at the idea. "As long as we stay in here," he suggested, "they won't bother us. Maybe we could just order room service."

"But listen to that surf," his bride countered. "We've got to do some ocean swimming." They were silent for a moment, listening to the distant thunder of waves on the beach. Martha beckoned Aaron out onto the balcony, which was lit by the rising moon. The night air was full of the smell of flowers; Aaron put his arms around Martha and they stood quietly enjoying the peaceful view.

"This is incredible," Martha murmured. "I don't think I've ever seen a more beautiful place."

"Neither have I." He looked into her eyes, feeling his heart skip a beat as she smiled back at him. "Do – do you want dinner or anything?"

"No. I'm still full from the barbecue."

"Then I think we should go inside."

"And unpack?" she teased.

"No, and have some fun. We can unpack tomorrow."

Martha leaned into him, slid a finger under his collar and kissed his neck. Moving her lips up toward his ear, she whispered, "That sounds like a good idea," and slid her hands down past his waist. A few seconds later she had wrapped herself around him as much as it was possible to do while they were still fully clothed.

Aaron closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the pleasure he felt from her every movement. On the one hand he wanted to stay on the balcony and keep kissing her; on the other, the urge to go back to the bedroom was growing stronger by the second. Suddenly he had an idea. "Don't move," he muttered, leaning over.

Martha gasped and giggled as he picked her up, dashed inside and laid her in the middle of the bed. He quickly headed back to close the door to the balcony, but she was already half undressed when he returned seconds later. "Hurry up," she commanded, taking his hand and tugging him down beside her. "I've been waiting to get you alone all day."

The following morning Aaron opened his eyes just enough to register that it was daylight and then immediately closed them again. Reaching out to confirm that his wife was next to him, he turned onto his side, put his arms around her and relaxed back into sleep – or so he thought.

"I'm hungry."

"Huh."

She kissed his forehead. "I'm starving."

"Order something," he mumbled.

"I'll have you, on toast."

This made him laugh. "You can have the toast with me on the side for later."

"Did I wear you out?"

"You did for a fact. And I don't regret a second of it." This was true. Her lovemaking the night before had been full of joy, not the desperation he had sensed in her for the past two months, and he had spent the entire night thanking God for her recovery. Aaron knew neither of them would ever forget their wedding night; to describe it as "active" would have been an understatement. He had delighted in doing everything she liked best. He suddenly realized that he was hungry, too.

"We burned a lot of calories last night, and we didn't have dinner. Do you want room service?"

"I thought about that, but I'd really like to get a look at the hotel. We didn't get to see much of it last night. Why don't we go downstairs?"

"Good idea. Let's get dressed. I'll call Jon first and let him know we're going to the dining room." Martha groaned; he added, "They aren't going to have the buffet line staked out or anything. I just need to let him know. Go shower." He patted her behind and reached for the phone.

Watching the happy couple devour an enormous breakfast shortly afterward, Jon smiled to himself and drew his own conclusions. _I'm glad somebody had fun last night,_ he thought philosophically (his wife's flight from Texas back to Washington had left about the same time he had accompanied the former First Lady to Mexico). Benevolently, he followed them around the hotel compound and out to the pool.

"Jon, can we swim?"

"Of course you can. It's completely up to you – it's your vacation, after all. Just give me a call and let us know what you want to do. Five minute's notice is all we need."

She beamed at him. "Thank you, Jon."

The next few days settled the Pierces into a peaceful routine of eating, swimming and reading. Knowing they had only five days for a honeymoon made them eager to savor every moment of their time together. One afternoon, after sitting on the balcony staring at the ocean while Aaron read, Martha suddenly got up, headed inside and reappeared with a pad of paper and a pen. She began scribbling notes, stared into space tapping the pen on the arm of her chair, then began writing again. Aaron watched her for a moment.

"You working on a speech?"

She hesitated for a moment. "No, I'm thinking about writing a book."

"A book? You mean like a memoir?"

"Sort of. I don't want to just reiterate what happened to me. I want to explain what I learned from it all. What's really important in life, like being with someone you love and doing work that you love, and not to confuse money with happiness – oh, does that sound too clichéd?"

"No, it's the truth. Martha, what you're talking about is something everybody has to learn for themselves, but it's not an easy thing to learn. If you want to tell your story, I think it's a wonderful idea. People will listen to what you have to say. They know you've been through some tough times, they know you're not perfect. You've earned their respect."

The pen and paper went flying as Martha slid out of her chair and threw her arms around him. "I love you," she whispered, close to tears. "You are the most incredible person. How did I get lucky enough to be married to you?"

"I've been asking myself the same thing for days about you. Martha, I'm just – I'm ordinary. Sometimes I still can't believe that we're together, that I'm not boring you to death."

"Trust me, you are not ordinary. You're brave, romantic, gorgeous, trustworthy…" she smiled at his flush. "And modest. But definitely not ordinary. And there is no way that you will ever bore me."

Aaron found himself remembering her words several days later as they pulled into the White House guest entrance. He would sooner have been dragged through Washington by a pack of wild horses than attend the Gardners' reception, but he had reminded himself that Martha deserved her moment in the sun and that he had, after all, married one of the most remarkable women in the world. The occasional public event was just the price he would have to pay for doing so. He braced himself and took Martha's arm as she stepped from the limousine.

She eyed him for a moment. "You look like you're about to be burned at the stake."

"I thought I was smiling."

Martha reached up and tickled his cheek gently. "_Now_ you're smiling. Did I mention you look great with a tan, Mr. Pierce?"

"So do you, Mrs. Pierce. Now let's go in and get this thing over with."

The reception turned out to be more enjoyable than Aaron had expected, though the Gardners clearly weren't sure how to deal with him on a social basis; he found it easier to talk to the Suvarovs, who were delighted to see him. Martha moved from group to group, introducing him to various friends of hers. Every once in a while Aaron would move away to the side of the room on the pretext of revisiting the buffet line and spend a few minutes chatting with Cardona or Kryukov, who had accompanied the Suvarovs to the reception. Eventually he found himself waved back to the party by Martha. Toward the end of the afternoon he found himself standing with a small group of men huddled around a BlackBerry checking football scores. "My wife will kill me if she catches me doing this," the BlackBerry owner muttered.

"So will mine." Aaron smiled. After a few moments' chat about football, his new acquaintance introduced himself as a publisher with a New York firm.

"Really? A publisher? My wife is thinking about writing a book."

"Tell me more." The publisher perked up instantly, pocketing his BlackBerry. "I'd be very interested to speak with your wife about a contract."

"Come with me. I'll introduce you. Martha?" Martha turned inquiringly. "This is Mr. James Grant. He's a publisher and he's interested in talking to you about your book."

Martha's face lit up. "How do you do?" she asked shaking Grant's hand. "I'm Em Pierce."

**THE END**


End file.
